Kintsugi

My immediate urge upon seeing this prompt is to spell out the traumatic events of my life and how I've overcome them. But I'm trying to say more by saying less, though these opening statements are a poor attempt at that. I'm also trying to be less arrogant and self-congratulatory with varying degrees of success. I can tell already this response is going to be a bit of a tangent, but if you stay with me, I'll make it worth your while. I'll try to, anyway.

A deck of tarot cards is broken up into 2 parts: the Major Arcana and the Minor Arcana. The Major Arcana consists of 22 cards. It begins with The Fool and ends with The World, and tells the general story of a spiritual journey. The Minor Arcana covers more specific situations and the challenges we must face to overcome them. If the Major Arcana features the chapters of the Book of Life, the Minor Arcana are the paragraphs within that carry the plot along. I'm going to focus on one Major Arcana card in particular: The Tower.

The Tower is the 16th card out of the 22, close to the end of the spiritual journey. It typically depicts a stone tower being struck by lightning and a figure falling seemingly to their death from its peak. It represents unforeseen events that result in sudden, cataclysmic change. There is destruction, crisis, devastation...and liberation. The few cards before The Tower involve a change of perspective and acknowledgment of your role in your present situation, and the cards after represent inner wisdom and moving forward with faith. It's a scary looking card and tends to make people panic when they see it, much like the Death (13th) or The Devil (15th) cards do. The notion that everything you've built is falling apart is unsettling. The only change people like is the one they get to choose. A burst bubble leaves you vulnerable, naked. In my opinion, the structures that crumble with ease are the ones built on loose, shifting foundation.

At the peak of my depression (one of them, anyway...my mental health timeline is akin to a mountain range), I stumbled across an article about kintsugi. Kintsugi is a traditional Japanese method for repairing broken pottery. Instead of disposing of the broken pieces, gold is mixed with lacquer and the pieces are arranged once more- but now with some flair. The result is even more unique than it was before. Perfect, no but beautiful still. Maybe even more so than before. It's no secret that the pottery cracked, and it shouldn't have to be. It fell apart, and there was undoubtedly a moment of grief, a moment of mourning for purity, for perfection. But one cannot mourn forever, nor should one feel obligated to rid themselves of what once was. The secret to a happy future is not to eliminate the past. We couldn't even if we tried. There is power in acceptance.

In my Tower moments, I fell apart. Lightning struck, and my structures crumbled. But as I examined the pieces, I realized that my materials I'd used to build my illusions were never meant to last, or at the very least needed much more support than I realized. The poetic thing about everything falling apart is that you get to rebuild in any way you choose. We cannot strengthen weaknesses if we are ignorant to them. Grief may consume us for a time, but eventually we (hopefully) realize that the inaction of pain disturbs us more than the discomfort of growth and we move forward to meet The World, golden veins on display. At this point, I am more lacquer crack than stone. Truthfully, I like the way the precious metal catches the light.

I give myself a C- on the saying more by saying less part. Maybe a D.