Dim light breathing, waking
Hands crafting, repairing, polishing
Freezing mornings under clear spring skies, trudging through crowds and traffic, through bus and train. A daily pilgrimage, towards the mountains in Kameoka, a suburban town just outside of Kyoto. Struggling to stay awake, yawning every so often. I need coffee, but it'll have to wait.
The moment I alight from the train, all the prior chaos and madness fades into the quiet. It's a sleepy town, after all. The sun's out, but it's still winterish cold despite it being spring. Cold, crisp air with a warm sunlit kiss on the skin - it's a lovely enjoyable stroll. The houses down the street are quiet, and doors closed. Feels like nobody's home. Perhaps they are, as it's a work day. The slide and swings at the playground draw me in and beg to be used, but I hesitate. My apprenticeship awaits and work calls, and I'm keen to get started.
It's always a nice feeling to arrive at the studio. Light and air fills it up, and entering the space, you expand into it. Tea is ready to warm the hands, and a soothing, lullabying music warms the mind. The kintsugi teacher gives a few minutes of instruction and demonstration, and off I go. We work quietly and silently, me on my own piece, she on her many other pieces. She glances at my work occasionally and guides me along gently. I ask questions if I don't understand, but otherwise, our interaction is limited. But I'm not complaining. It's such a refreshingly different way to learn. None of the intimidating pressure to perform or achieve, but instead all of the nurturing guidance and support necessary to learn well.
I love it.
Starting my mornings working calmly and quietly in such a lovely, meditative space. Using my hands on intricate work, to repair a broken tea bowl with gold. The gentle guidance of a kind teacher, by the side.
The extraordinary in the everyday, the magic in the simple. What a pleasure to relish, what a privilege to enjoy.