The news is full of pain. Images of a young boy dead - one life in the swell of lives displaced by modern wars and conflict. My heart breaks. There are never easy answers to the conflicts of the world. I think of my own family history - how recently much of my family moved to the US. And how easily we forget.
I keep thinking about the boy's father. We who are left behind in this land of the living - are left with the hard choice of what to do with our shattered hearts and world. I keep searching for those who remind me that we have choices of how we face the pain. Hard choices. But choices still. And as in most of my life - I have few answers - so I have to make something.
"Little one, there is some pain and suffering in the world that we can not stop. But we can choose how we answer it - with life or more death. " from The Heart of Shahrazad
Kintsukuroi - To repair with gold
Days of wrestling...
Days of darkness..
Days when the heaviness wins...
It is said that pain makes us stronger.
And I wonder.
For many - pain is Crushing.
And we are found in pieces.
Pretending that we aren't broken feels wrong.
to sweep the broken into the waste.
I wonder what would happen if we stopped and saw
them back together.
We might not be stronger.
We might actually be weaker.
It would be hard.
This choice of beauty and repair over destruction.
feeding the endless whirlwind of pain.
I want to fall in that whirlwind of pain.
To just say I'm broken and then smash the world around me.
And yet...What if we glued together our shattered pieces?
I wonder if beauty might not be stronger than our pain?
Stronger than our pointing fingers
Stronger than death and destruction.
Stronger than the trash we see in our hands.
What if we took gold and glued our broken pieces together?
Holding gently in our hands the scars.
Pouring beauty between the cracks and
Pressing the pieces back together
What if we had the courage to create
when all we've been given is destruction?
What if we are not strength but broken beauty?
Never forgetting our scars.
boldly highlighting them in gold.
A mark of our choice.
The choice of beauty and life
The mark of a hard path.
Chosen over the siren call of destruction and pointing fingers.