On the hidden beauty of brokenness and the art of kintsugi

The Lord is close to the broken-hearted / and saves those who are crushed in spirit. (Ps. 34:18)

To approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it. It is therefore to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity. But this also means: to be taught. (Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority)

Let me go there with you. (Yiannis Ritsos, Moonlight Sonata)

I have been overwhelmingly encouraged not only by your response to my recent small essays on a theme, but more so by your own stories of resilience and your practise of the compassionate-love. By this term, I have simply meant the charism of forgiveness, the concern for the well-being and flourishing of the “Other” (Levinas), and an acknowledgement of our fragile and oftentimes contradictory natures. I was especially struck by your experiences and rich insights into the trauma of being “ghosted” by a beloved friend. Though I was not necessarily surprised, given that our lives are deeply interwoven with one another, the volume and integrity of your response had an intense effect on me.

https://stockcake.com/i/kintsugi-ceramic-bowl_687586_83520

What do I mean, and why was I so moved when I read your words, and later to be also told by Katina of the large number of visitors to this particular post, On the Grief of Losing the Love of a Beautiful Friend, had brought to it. To begin with, the two great things were further reinforced for me. First, that we are all much more alike than we are different. And second, that the ongoing silence of a friend can be one of the deepest pains that we will experience. It is good to know we are not alone, that we all belong to that greater community of like-minded souls who delight in shared joys and suffer through similar sorrows.

All our stories are unique. They exist within their own context. Every experience of loss brings its own consequence, and it carries its own particular weight. But why does this grief steadfastly refuse to completely go away? Be patient, for in time its brutal sting will be numbed. Yet, it will linger. It will never completely die, for the simple reason that love itself cannot ever be exhausted. For love is much stronger than the sting. This is the irony, our humanity itself. The more human and humane we are, the more we will hurt. And much as we might wish to avoid this grief, for, as we have agreed, it can hurt more than that throbbing pain down to the bones, it is our restorative kintsugi. It is the art of our healing, of bringing the broken pieces back into the whole and transforming them into something even more beautiful than before.

Kintsugi translates to “golden joinery”. It is a traditional Japanese art form that repairs broken ceramics by using a formula made of lacquer mixed with powdered gold, or other coinage metals, to mend the cracks. It is important to keep in mind that these materials themselves might appear to be messy at the start, in the same way to the block-in of a traditional painting and this creative process does not happen overnight. The noble philosophy that underpins this craft is that it understands both the breakage and repair not as something to hide, but rather as part of an object’s history. The beauty that results will rest in the very imperfection itself. I, too, have come to look increasingly at kintsugi as a metaphor for the mended scars that we carry in the context of healing—Ithacan and more compelling to look at than before.

In a long story that I have in some place written, I have placed these words below in the mouth of my resolute protagonist, Monk Sebastian Kazan:

I have wondered what it would be like, and how wonderful beyond the conception of words, to have in the one room towards the closure of one’s life, all of your adversaries. To reveal to each and every one of these souls that without their presence, the puzzle would not be complete. I say to myself, even during the excruciating hours, I would not be who I am today without you. To embrace these adversaries tightly and to whisper into their ear which too has been aching: “We were in search of our identity. I have always loved you.”

Each day becomes more precious when we try our best to make someone else’s life a little brighter. And the ‘tyranny’ of this universal and proven compassion? Because for some reason there are those times that we hold back, knowing too well how possible it really can be—a postcard; a letter; three words in an email (“All is good”); a bouquet of flowers. These invaluable gifts are easily doable though on occasion they will require emotional courage. The recognition, as I have read elsewhere, that we are all on the way to our individual extinction, could also force our hand. When we are gone our “species” (our unique and unrepeatable individuality) will never again appear on this earth. And surely this is something worth remembering and acting upon with a healing grace.

I understand. I really do understand. This theology is not for the ivory tower. It was brought to life in the deserts of Egypt under a blazing sun and watered from the aquifer bones of anchorites hallowed and hollowed like the rocks.

On trying to become fully human

Tempe, Arizona

Photo by Shahan Khan on Unsplash

Something ‘powerful’ is holding us back. It keeps us from flight. At times it might feel like a dam holding back a great torrent of water. What is more, we feed this hold over us to the extent that years could pass and we remain grounded to its biggest lie. Whatever this obstacle might be, this ‘big lie’, it is known to our hearts alone. Often it is guilt over something we have done, or should not have done. Other times it is regret at an opportunity not taken to express our love, or to ask for forgiveness. This lie invariably tells us we are “not good” and that we do not deserve the “good fortune” incumbent upon others. Many of these instances which stop us from moving forward have to do with our despondency to set things ‘right’. Then the dreadful moment when suddenly confronted with the reality that it is too late. That is, the best of our intentions can no longer be realized. What then? Do we spend the remainder of our lives weltering in self-recrimination? Perhaps a higher providence has seen best for things to fall precisely as they have. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Is. 55:9). This was the only way. It was the only way for ‘self-recrimination’ to turn out to be self-revelation. To become fully human, that is, to the extent which such a thing is possible [the ‘unity between head and heart’ Jean Vanier], means to engage with these hard experiences and to live through them. The final destination is what matters. What is done is done. There is the next hour to be lived to its fullest.

Such unbridled joy it does bring to the heart when we happen to come across someone who we sense to be fully human, or at least striving for this end goal. This aspiration towards a human teleology is our spirit’s greatest work. We might discover such people in our everyday encounters “by the well”: our teacher, coach, doctor, grocer, pharmacist, gardener, postal clerk, or cashier worker. If we might borrow from Sufism these are men and women with divinity written on their hearts. Occupation and social status have nothing to do with this luminous heart which is set before us. It is a true humility which recognizes the potential in the other and which possesses a love which moves and breathes outside the margins. Such a human presence is not easily given to cynicism and is slow to judge.

Writing and receiving letters was one of the delights of the ‘bygone age’. Outside the pure enjoyment of the physical processes of pressing out the paper, writing the date on the top left hand corner, putting down the name of the receiver My dear or My dearest…, thinking carefully [‘playfulness’ not excluded] on what you write, and then the final endearments… truly I am yours. And all of it in your own unmistakable scrawl. The letter will often enough, too, carry the unique scent of the sender. What is more the joy of receiving a reply, or a surprise from someone who went to the trouble of looking up your address to then leave his or her ‘biometric’ on the top right hand corner of the envelope. Emails [together with their lifeless emojis] possess little or nothing of such special wonder. Haruki Murakami says it so simply in one of his novels: “How wonderful it is to be able to write someone a letter!”

Little can compare to giving a fellow human being renewed hope, to encourage them through trials, or to inspire in the pursuit of new goals. It is as restorative as saying “I love you”. For love itself, if it be true, takes its first step in the movement of compassion. How can we do this? That is to offer renewed hope to a hurting heart? There are as many ways as there are expressions of love itself. First, the benevolent act of forgiveness. To forgive someone is perhaps the most liberating act for both the giver and the receiver. There are also secret acts of charity where they might most be needed. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares” (Heb. 13:2). A simple letter sent with kindness and genuine concern in a world where self-centeredness is becoming increasingly the norm can make all the difference. To begin with to offer someone hope means to accept them. And there is besides the constraining of the ego in allowing another in greater need to ‘appropriate’ some of our spotlight. Where there is selfishness, hope cannot deliver.

“It all goes too quick” we will from time to time say to ourselves. In the Old Testament in the Book of Job it is described thus: “For we were born only yesterday and know nothing, and our days on earth are but a shadow” (Job 8:9). The English writer Jenny Diski who endured much as a young person would afterward as an adult add her own addendum to this reality: “Everything passes, but nothing entirely goes away.” We are caught somewhere in the middle. We all know too well it will go quick, but in the meantime we experience profound emotions and our actions leave behind a legacy. The desert dwellers approach this mystery head-on by holding onto “the memory of death”. This contemplation on our brevity upon the earth is neither macabre nor defeatist. It is an act of true anarchism. They joyfully accept our transience looking beyond and live each day with such actual ‘meaningfulness’ as if it was their last hour like leaves of an olive tree which rotate to capture every tiny bit of moisture. So let us hasten to do some good while we can. It is later than we think, it has also been said.

In what ways might I make a difference in my day-to-day encounters with the ‘other’? There are many ways. There are an untold number of opportunities in our everyday exchanges with our neighbor that might not only bring a smile to a needful heart but could also save a life. Are you holding back from sending a message to a friend who might be in need of a word of encouragement? Can you anonymously send a gift to a charity? Delete an email sent to you by someone during a moment of their vulnerability? On your way to work is there a homeless person you might stop to say hello and buy a coffee for? Might you send a card to an ‘enemy’ wishing them a bright day? Could you surprise a loved one with a gift letting them know how precious they are to you? Is it too difficult to nod the head at the stranger who has cut you off at the traffic lights? Make an impromptu visit to a hospital and ask if there is anyone in need of a visitor?  It all goes too quick and yet there is much we can do. In Japanese the word for charity is jizen. The characters of the word beautifully illustrate that at the heart of charity is mercy and compassion. It is amazing too, is it not? That in helping others we are at the same time helping ourselves. And it is no mere coincidence then, that in the New Testament, Jesus Christ would connect the love of God with the love of our neighbor “like unto it” (Matt. 22:36-40).

Many of the world’s problems stem from ‘egoism’. This is the condition where “self-interest” is at the center of one’s morality. One nation considers itself better than the next and robs the other of its rights and resources. And one person thinks he or she is superior to their neighbor so diminishing and blunting their potential. The first can lead to wars and to the spread of famine. The second will lead to despair and to the lessening of our brother’s or our sister’s personality which are the qualities of their character. Both are cruel and will only ever result in suffering, if not to catastrophe, whether on a universal or personal scale.