The Art of Mending

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. By embracing the imperfections, the bowl, or cup, or vase, becomes more interesting. The beauty is the mend itself, in the new lines, spaces, and patterns formed by the gold paint. I know someone who mends clothing in a similar fashion. Instead of hiding a hole, or tear, in the garment, she embroiders a whimsical design over it. Sometimes it’s a small flower on a sleeve. Other times, it’s a T-Rex with a toothy smile, off-center in the middle of an old sweatshirt. In both cases, the piece of pottery and the article of clothing let the artist know how to mend the broken parts.

The winter after I was born, my mother borrowed some blankets from the elderly couple who lived on the neighboring farm (yes, I was born on a farm, where we lived until I was six and my parents admitted they were absolutely not cut out to be farmers). In the stack was an old quilt, made of even older cotton work-shirts. Estimated to have been made sometime in the 1920s, it was completely functional, with no discernable pattern or intentional artistic design, but by that point in 1962, the story of the couple's 40-year marriage was woven into the hundreds of meticulously cut triangles and thousands of invisible stitches that created a simple, useful, warm quilt.

When my mother returned the blankets, the neighbor insisted she keep the quilt, as a gift for me. I grew up knowing how special the quilt was, and that it was mine. The aged cotton was as soft as butter. It kept me warm throughout every winter of my childhood, and well into adulthood and also holds the DNA of over 100 years of babies, invalids, pets and people who have slept beneath its comforting weight. Sometime in the late 1990s, the quilt began to show its age. A section of the old triangles had torn, disintegrated or were lost completely. My daughter’s paternal grandmother was an expert seamstress, and she repaired the gentle old quilt, preparing it for another hundred years of use. I’ve passed it on to my daughter now as it carries the memories of both her grandmothers. The quilt became even more precious for the mending as it joined her family together.

I’ve been thinking about how the concept of mending applies to people. Broken bones can be set with the break only visible through an x-ray (or felt during cold weather). Cuts on the skin can be stitched, sometimes barely leaving a scar, but in the bearer is aware of the changes to their body. The passage of time leaves an undeniable imprint on our physical body and our brains. The trick, I’m finding, is how to balance the processes. In my mind, I’ve always been the 17-year-old me. On the cusp of adulthood, I was already an old soul. Now, at almost 62, the arthritis in my hips (and maybe my knees but one thing at a time, here, Universe) has slowed me down significantly and physically, I feel older than my chronological age. The cosmic lesson is that, really, none of this is definable. Internally, I can do anything. Physically, I’m mindful of every step, usually before I take it.

But shouldn’t I be mindful of every step, anyway? And shouldn’t I apply that mindfulness to every word, every action, and every thought? If not beforehand, then at the very least, shouldn't I have an awareness of the impact I create? This is one of the basic tenets of yoga, but because of the issue with my hips I hadn’t been to a yoga class in a very long time. Life is full of Catch-22’s. Can’t do yoga because it hurts, but yoga would help ease the pain. Yes, I’ve known about chair yoga, I even purchased a special ‘yoga chair’ a couple of years ago. It’s been there waiting for me to log into the chair yoga video classes I’ve continue to accumulate, but not implement into my daily routine. Last week, I made the commitment and started the classes.

The first series is very beginner level and only runs about 20 minutes. I can manage most of the asanas without too much trouble and am probably able to do more than is covered in the class. That’s not really the point. I’ll get there, I’ll reach the level that poses a challenge. Right now, I’m remembering how good it feels to breath into a stretch, how to think about the position of my body, and the position of my mind, and adjust accordingly. I’ve incorporated yoga nidra as well as binaural beats into my nightly meditation rotation, although Solfeggio frequencies are still my favorite.

I’m not entirely past the point of caring about my physical appearance, but I’m no longer concerned about it, either. This is how I look; I’ve accepted it and have no interest in changing it. I think the way we show up is far more important than how we look when we do. That said, situations in my life the past few years have resulted in me becoming something of a recluse and I’ve had to adjust how, and when, I show up. Text and video calls are easiest for me and allow me to connect with people who are far away (I have wonderful distance friends). In person gatherings are almost impossible unless I host them at my house. I’m a good hostess, albeit an infrequent one. I’m trying to reconnect to more people socially (so if you hear from me soon, don’t be surprised).

By ‘socially’, however, I mean to connect with a purpose. A project, a topic discussion, even a game night requires different levels and amounts of energy. It’s important for me to monitor and manage the amount of energy I have, so when it runs low I want to know it was well spent. If a friend needs to vent or discuss a problem, then a video call or text is best for me. I can manage small gatherings with a bit of planning, and I’ve usually got a divination method or magical craft I want to try, which are always more fun when shared. I have neither the energy, nor the inclination, for superficial gatherings. My energy stores are reserved for significant moments. My intention is to create a space, either virtually or in my dining room, where everyone leaves knowing they are accepted and understood, create lasting memories during the time we spend together.

A lot of people are obsessed with learning what happened to them in a past life. While I’m curious and I know it might be helpful in identifying patterns that interfere with my present life, I think that ship has probably sailed for me. As the matriarch and oldest living ancestor in my family, generationally speaking, I’d rather look ahead.

How we show up is how we will be remembered. While I’m not ready to move on to the next experience just yet, I realize that there’s less time to refine my legacy. The ways I’d like to be remembered were not always reflected in the ways in which I’ve behaved. I can't change that, but I can do better. The past matters, but not as much as the future, or even ‘the now’. I want to be remembered as kind, so I can be kind. I’d like people to think of me as articulate, so I can learn new words and how to use them. The reality is, only the high and low points stand out in a lifetime, so I’m going to focus on hitting more of the former and less of the latter. That’s probably the best anyone can do.

I’m doing a bit of backward gazing, but mostly from an observational standpoint. It’s my responsibility as keeper of the legacy, to leave the stories and information for the generations who come after. This affords me the opportunity to defend my bad behavior, since a few of my big screw-ups are undeniable and unconcealable (newsflash, I’ve done some stupid stuff). I’m unapologetic but I’m also setting the record straight wherever I see fit. That’s the whole reason for the golden glue.

Mending a broken cup with molten gold is a slow and thoughtful process. There will be more mending to do as I get older, and I’m gaining the skills to facilitate and appreciate this beautiful process as I go.

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