I am Kintsukuroi.
I am shattered, splintered, and blindly clawing around the floor trying
to find the pieces of my life. I am broken.
I. Am. Reborn.
Most often, life flows relatively
seamlessly from one moment to the next, but I also have faced devastations and outright
traumas that left me wholly wrecked. In those fractured moments, I have
wondered what would become of the pieces. I am the
broken pieces of my experience.
Within these
broken pieces strength, rebirth, beauty, a survivor spirit, and a map to my
past live on.
Kintsukuroi means “to repair with gold”; the art of
repairing broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer. The art is often associated
with an understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken
and repaired. In the learning about Japanese
art of kintsukuroi, I fell in love with the beauty of being broken apart and
what can follow. It is a poetic metaphor
for life. It is the history of my life.
I am twice splintered. A loud
crack echoed, tectonic plates shifted and the earth’s mantle cracked open. I plummeted, free falling into a seemingly
bottomless pit until I crashed onto the hard-packed bottom sending an explosion
of jagged shards flying with such force pieces of me were embedded into the
surrounding walls.
In the first, my lover left abruptly cracking me apart, but instead of my
heart splitting in two, my whole being fractured into a thousand pieces like shrapnel
exploding from a lethal bomb. The
loneliness of our half-full bed ripped my soul into ragged strips like curtains
hanging in an empty hall of gray. I died.
I stopped breathing to end the pain and all that remained of me was the
sharp shards of my soul mate’s departure, bits of porcelain scattered across
the bed we would never again share.
In the aftermath, I crawled through smoke and over cracked pieces of
mirror, jagged reflections staring up at my devastation. I lost thirty pounds in a month, left parts
of me behind, and clawed my way through in spite of the delicious pain wanting
to return again and again to someone who could leave me behind. During that time, physical pain would have
been a relief. I wished someone would crush my jaw with a tight fist so I could
break and bleed, my outsides matching my insides.
“A soul mate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little
bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light
can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform
your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master...” ~ Elizabeth Gilbert
I
did, indeed, become so desperate and out of control that I faced things about
myself that I hadn’t wanted to confront.
I showed up. I did the hard work,
wincing as I reconnected each fractured piece of myself and filled each fissure
with whatever I could find that I thought might hold in that moment. It took years to recreate myself, to find the
will and mettle to be reborn in the fires of the faith that I could be repaired. In time I healed, silvered scar tissue appeared,
and new and beautiful light came into my life.
The cracks and crevices of the vessel of my being filled with a golden
beauty I could not have imagined before. I am Kintsukuroi.
I
often speak with deep gratitude for the “bad” events of my life. Although each seemed difficult if not
impossible to transcend, I grew stronger in the course of simply staying the
course. I met people of significance I
would not have otherwise, I gained necessary power, or I turned in another
direction taking me down a path I needed to discover. In this, I have become truly thankful for the
trials I have come through and undeniably my life has become more gratifying.
In having
been broken open, I realize I am not ruined, rather a willow, bending,
weeping….budding into green. Spring green, lime and forest, richly nourishing
myself with the earth. I survived to see my scars turn silver, their pattern
telling stories across my face, hands, breasts and thighs. Their pattern a road map by which to remember
my past. I am Kintsukuroi.
The second time, only six weeks ago, my entire world was smashed to
smithereens and made the first seem mere child’s play. My ex-partner and children’s other mother,
died suddenly. In an instant everything
changed. The children we had been
happily co-parenting were thrown into a chasm of desolation. Our colorful and contented world went dark
and dismal. The busy, but manageable
pace of our lives went into frenetic overload as we planned a memorial and
spread heartrending details to friends and family even as we were still numb
with shock. Following the memorial and
within the absurdly short period of a week, life demanded we resume the day to
day of our lives – work, school, and running a household. Mostly though, we are trying to remember how
to breathe in spite of sharp shards protruding from gaping holes in our chests.
“Take these broken wings and
learn to fly.” ~ Paul McCartney, Blackbird
A long time ago, I
was once broken and, in turn, repaired.
Time and the will to survive are great equalizers. Eventually, remembering to breathe will come
more naturally, disbelief will evolve into acceptance, and the deep ache of
loss will transform into happier memories of a loved one. Although the fractures will never disappear,
a certain beauty from this time of grieving will emerge. The new fractures in the shattered bowl of
our life will be filled with the love that remains. I know this to be true for I am Kintsukuroi.
~ Mk Michaels
This article has appeared on Rebelle Society. http://www.rebellesociety.com/2014/03/31/kintsukuroi-broken-open-and-reborn/
I am tired of apologizing for my power,
