A Reflection of America in Metaphors and Fragments
Once upon a time in America, I discovered a Japanese philosophy that made me believe Isaiah’s 54th chapter, over and over, when he said that “no weapon formed against [us] would prosper.” Even the weapons we formed against ourselves.
The philosophy was Kintsugi: it proudly, transparently, boldly, illuminated our scars. Kintsugi. It is the beautiful broken porcelain bowl that carries our American Dream. Kintsugi. It is the broken bowl whose tiny pieces are swept up, mixed with melted gold, and poured between the cracks of the large broken spaces. Kintsugi. It is the new, but old bowl with the gold scars shining through it.
Once upon a time in America, I discovered an American philosopher that made me believe in Jehovah-Rapha, the God who heals. Even the people who don’t want to heal and don’t want us to heal. The philosopher was Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: he proudly, transparently, boldly, illuminated our scars. King. He is the Dreamer in the eye of my student Dreamers who know that they have a right to the Dream that is America, the Dream that has not been broken, only bent, the Dream that kept all of us believing that we should be judged the way Dr. King said we should be: by the “content of our character” not the color of our skin or the accents of our words. King. He is the old, but new Dreamer with the heart of gold that still brings light to America’s dark places.
Once upon a time in America, I discovered that we were a tossed salad, not a melting pot. That we live in the fractured, but not broken, Kintsugi bowl, dreaming the Dream of Dr. King, and healing the warrior within each of us. And that on Dr. King’s day, we pause long enough to see our salad selves. Our multiple ingredients. Our multiple flavors. Each salad fixin’ living independently, uniquely, individually, and distinctly in the Kintsugi bowl. We are together, adding our own talents to create a beautiful explosion of flavor in the mouths of all who see us from foreign soils and partake – and all who see us from foreign soils and long to partake.
Once upon a time in America, I discovered a beautiful song that is America. Dr. King added his notes to the melody. We, too, add ours. Sometimes we make music. Sometimes we make noise. But at all times, all of us add our notes: whether sound or silence, we all play the song. America the beautiful – always beautiful because we have Kintsugi. America the beautiful – always beautiful because we have Rapha. America the beautiful – always beautiful because we still have Dr. King, on his day, reminding us that the notes we play, along with the moments of silence we strategically place on the scale, determine whether we make music or whether we make noise. Dr. King, Rapha, and Kintsugi all remind us that the amount of work in creating the song, carving the Dream, living together in the salad bowl, whether we accept it or not, is always the same.
