Broken Beauty

Kintsukuroi, or Kintsugi

As a philosophy, kintsugi can be seen to have similarities to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect.[10][11] Japanese aesthetics values marks of wear by the use of an object. This can be seen as a rationale for keeping an object around even after it has broken and as a justification of kintsugi itself, highlighting the cracks and repairs as simply an event in the life of an object rather than allowing its service to end at the time of its damage or breakage.[12] Wiki.

The philosophy of having something repaired and retained; Something bonded with materials seemingly more valuable than the original medium is life affirming. There are some beliefs that are not taught in religious institutions or homes, they are taught only through time and well… life itself. This belief that people and humanity itself was not a disposable commodity rang loudly. Though, in religions I found that only some were counted, in politics, I found that even fewer were counted as worthy, as having that quality that made them human and countable. In the world today, and thought processes everywhere, it is shameful but true, many people don’t count. Out of sight, out of mind, out of thoughts, out of reason to care, out of God, fighting children.

I don’t know if it is a protection mechanism or just simply the selfish and self centered thoughts of those who deem themselves better than, other than, apart from, and above much of what the real world offers and teaches. There is a whole bunch of I don’t know going on, a whole different degree of insulations being added to our stinking onions. If we believe that the TV and the internet will bring you an informed opinion, then you may like the Bible as well, because that hasn’t changed in a few hundred years either, and there is never anyone trying to make a louder point. I am the youngest of nine, I have a habit of projecting my voice to that just above a low din to make my point heard. It does me little good anymore when it comes out as a passionate resonance to my loving and listening wife. We, and I am generalizing here I know, are guilty of passive apathy, overt racism and xenophobia, and on top of that a more than massive psychologically proven condition about sex in all its forms. I am using a magnifying glass to look for the pieces of pottery now, flakes of injustice abound.

The paradox is charmingly, if not tragically amusing if it were not so dreaded in its nature. A disease of the Id, a casting aside of compassion and empathy because we just can’t do it, we can’t find ourselves well enough to care at the level we should. Make a list and write out all of those things you care for, what doesn’t make the list is proof of my theory, what does make the list is also proof. So in certain terms we as a whole are broken, but that doesn’t mean that repairs are meaningless, that those shards of pottery don’t hold a value well beyond their unintended state at the moment. This country is much like that, its people as well, and the ongoing repairs may gleam with a golden shine in time.

I have often pondered and written about the questions surrounding America’s survival. The sicknesses on all levels, and the meager actions being taken to heal those wounds. It is a fascination with this outer look, this way beyond the layers that people normally look into. Maybe it is just something a few of us have, a gift and a curse, a hold the phone for a minute while all the outcomes go through my minds. In that respect I see much of the Japanese art form making its way to the benches, the repairs, the purpose and the usefulness. Broken is a subjective term, one that suggests that it should be disposed of in today’s trash speak. That business of devaluing our language, our communications into a free form of meanings and doublespeak leaving the true substance of it weakened and confounding. Broken we are though, that definition ringing loudly and clear, the world on the side of Webster’s dictionary on pointing that out to us.

In our repairs, in our hard look into the ugly mirror and the truth serum the cacophony that is erupting is a healing din. A get over it and yourself wake up call, a chance to join the rest of humanity in parity. That whole part about being the best has lost its grasp on the reality of it all. Running around the world with that kind of carelessness would upset anyone, we are not the best, we are just the biggest cleanup on aisle 17. So in our best efforts, as we run around self consumed in our stench and constipation, a healing sets in. The maggots are eating away the last of the dead flesh that prevents us from truly healing. As the new body is grown over the old one, the fillers of paste and glues will not be enough to bond us. The dryness of lies and deceit unwilling to take ahold of this new medium. The truth, and the golden rules with silver linings of freedom will allow us to make the needed repairs, the needed mending, the stating of our deepest fears, the overcoming of them together.

We the people, in order to form a more perfect union… The beauty is in having been broken, the gold found in the hearts and minds of every one of us concerned. The silver linings of freedom still our kiln and truth the fire that stokes it. The steps we take in our day and the acceptance of our own broken beauty.

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