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Never Broken: Songs are only half the story Jewel
Over tea the other night, a friend mentioned that scars grow and stretch with us. That in a way, the things that have happened in our lives become bigger with time. They take up a larger space in our adult mythology than in our younger headspace.
I think maybe this is true.
I brought up the story of the golden Buddha. It goes like this:
A group of monks was tasked with moving a clay statue to a new monastery. They noticed cracks in the clay, and chipped at it to reveal a solid gold statue. It had been covered in clay to protect it from theft in a time of danger.
If our core is the gold, then our clay is the protective barrier that we put between ourself and what makes us feel unsafe or unloved. The gold is never lost, only covered.
I asked if she thought people could break or be broken. She said that she believed people become broken, but then when they are put back together it is much like the Japanese technique of gluing broken ceramics with gold.
In a separate conversation my aunt said that if our work, and our hobbies and our family are all spheres, then work and hobbies bounce. However, family is a porcelain ball. What if we inherit a broken porcelain ball? I’ve become a ceramicist, now I just need to learn to work with porcelain. I will craft a new ball. Or maybe I will fashion one from the fragments I inherited and glue it with gold.
We all contain value depth, and beauty at our core. With love and time it can resurface even after hundreds of years under the mud. We don’t break, but our mud cracks. At that point we choose to either let it crack or add more mud. When we don’t cover it up with more mud the cracks let light illuminate the gold underneath. Cry until you crack, that’s how the light gets in.
Let it rip through you. You are golden.