#kitsugi

[skyheaven1231]

Kintsugi - The japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, highlighting the cracks not as damage but as a beautiful part of its history.

[momentsbeforemass]

Stronger

“It won’t always be this way.”

It’s one of the most important things that anyone ever told me. That the worst times in life, the worst things in life, aren’t permanent.

That the worst times in life, the worst things in life, are seasons.

Like seasons, they may take their sweet time getting here. And they may linger far too long. It seems like the worse they are, the longer they linger.

Or maybe it just feels that way.

But no matter how long a season drags on, eventually it gives way to the next season.

For every season, especially the worst ones, there are two questions. How do we get through it? And who will we be when we do?

So how do we get through it? No matter how you answer that, or how you want to look at that, it all really boils down to one simple question. Asked to each of us – by God.

“Do you want to do it by yourself, or would you like some help?”

The answer matters. Because how we go through it, that is who we go through it with, tells us the answer to the second question. Who will we be when we do?

Going through it on our own? It’s a recipe for being broken. And for being left on our own to pick up the pieces.

Going through it with God? It’s a recipe for being able to handle anything that happens. Even being broken. Knowing that we’re not alone. Knowing that Someone will help us pick up the pieces, that Someone will put us back together.

This is the point that Jesus is making in today’s Gospel. That no matter how we have been broken, if we’re going through it all with God, God will put us back together.

Not as if nothing had ever happened. But put back together with the evidence of God’s grace writ into every seam, every break, every crack.

Until no one can mistake the hand of God at work.

And we are stronger for having been broken.

Today’s Readings

[gogokbootz]

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity. - Albert Einstein

Dress by @gogokbootz

Hair by @gogokbootz

[the-omega-artist]

CLOWNES

[kitsugi-pb]

I'm hollering. This took so long to make. Started as me doodling on my phone in class, and now is the second fully rendered piece I've made on my phone using nothing but my finger.

I've decided he will be part of the syndicate as a kitsugi who has been granted sentience through illegal magic experiments.

[moodboardmix]

Yee Sookyung, Translated vase, 2011, 

Ceramic shards, Epoxy, 24k Gold Leaf, 

63 x 63 x 64 cm

Courtesy of Tina Kim Gallery

[sagemcmae]

Kintsugi

Kintsugi (金継ぎ , "golden joinery") is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with gold. 

When Kagome realizes her relationship with Inuyasha isn't what she wants, she leaves the village in search of a purpose. On her journey, she reunites with an old friend and discovers that even broken things can be made beautiful again.

(A Post-Canon SessKag one-shot for Day 6 of SessKag Week 2020)

It doesn’t end suddenly, in a violent clash of wills the way she expected. Rather it is a slow death, painful and exhausting. It drains her of all joy. The skin under her eyes darkens from sleepless nights and her body thins from her lack of appetite. No matter what spices she uses, everything tastes like ash in her mouth. Then one day, when Kagome can no longer stand it, she leaves.

He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t try to stop her. He just lets her walk out. And walk she does. Kilometer after kilometer until the sun sets and the moonlight casts an eerie glow on the dirt path stretched before her. 

She has no destination in mind yet her feet continue to carry her along the road. The burden of what everyone will think does not cross her mind. Kagome doesn’t consider how her absence will affect her friends. It will only make the ache in her chest that much worse. Instead, she buries her guilt along with the broken shards of her heart. The delicate pieces remind her of the jewel she wished gone from existence.

Life is ironic that way.

Kagome passes through towns and meets villagers who remind her of what she’s left behind. She sees herself in the youthful faces of the girls preparing for marriage. She connects with the healers who wear their wisdom on their wrinkled faces. She values the light in the eyes of the children she finds running through the fields. Yet, she belongs to none of these groups. She is like them, but not.

So she strolls onward.

On the third day, when she can walk no further, she takes refuge under a broad tree. The thick roots support her like a chair. She closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and rests. The cocoon of sleep feels like a precious balm, blocking the pain.

A demon approaches from the west. Her reiki prickles along her skin in warning. Kagome ignores it. She’s too weak to fight anyway. If the traveler wishes to kill her, she’d consider it a kindness. Eternal sleep sounds preferable to the constant agony she feels.

This is how he finds her— curled up at the base of the tree, alone and utterly defenseless. Kagome hadn’t even thought to grab her bow before she marched out of their hut.

He makes a soft tsking noise as he scoops her up. It isn’t difficult. She hardly weighs anything.

Her eyes flutter open as his familiar scent— fresh grass, mountain air, and coppery blood —fills her nostrils.

“Sesshomaru?”

His response is as unforgiving as the scowl on his face. “Foolish woman.”

Those gold eyes, metallic and hard, are the last thing she sees before she succumbs to the blissful dark.

Read it now on: A03 | Dokuga | FF.net

[theglycoprotein]

Kintsugi

The heart beats radiate out,

earthquakes from the epicentre of my being.

With my ear pressed to the mattress,

I hear it rumble. The pulse

of my body; the proof of my living, my

breathing.

Sometimes it feels like everything I touch

shatters. Like the magnitude of my heart

is too strong for anyone or anything to handle.

Sometimes I hold myself back from holding

just in case I make a break by accident;

I am not a master of mending - I cannot seal

your cracks with gold, you have to learn how

yourself.

Like I did.

That's why no one can ever tell

how often my whole self - body and soul -

has splintered under the force of my own

undeniable

existence.

The rumbles cease; the aftershocks,

the followers and the precursors

to the main event - so quiet now

they bleed into the history of my being

even as I seal the wounds shut.

No wonder my hands shake; they know their work

will be in vain.

But the history of every war

is written in the hand of the victors,

and my stories will be told,

even after the earth reclaims me

as her own.