Kintsugi. A Poem Made With Collective Tears...

...Invites you into Sacred Space

This is a vulnerable post.

I wish you were here, in my living room, having a cup of tea with me—or maybe something stronger. I wish I could look into your eyes and see how this lands for you. I wish I could hear something back. A simple I see this too or even Sorry, I can’t relate. Anything.

Because this whole world of “broadcasting” still feels strange to me, even though I’ve been doing it for a while. And sharing something sacred—something vulnerable—feels especially weird in this space. Normally, if we were at a dinner party, I’d pause before speaking, sensing whether it was the right time, the right people. But here, when we share at scale, that’s impossible.

So I have to trust. Trust that whoever reads, listens, or watches will be a worthy recipient of something tender. The same way we don’t invite just anyone into the room when a child is born, or when a loved one takes their last breath, there’s a sacredness in sharing something raw. And that sacredness only exists if it’s received in the right way.

It’s sacred because it’s honest, because it cracks us open, because it reveals what we so often rush past in our busy lives.

If you stay with me—stay present, stay in your body—this can become shared sacredness. It has the potential to be beautiful. To heal. To connect.

We live in a culture obsessed with being unbreakable, invincible, untouchable. But no matter how hard we try to hide it, the cracks are showing. We are breaking. We are broken.

And yet—through the cracks, the light gets in.

I wrote this poem in one sitting. It came and took me over. It’s raw. It’s intimate. And I hope you’ll receive it in that same spirit.

Let it be what it is. Let it move you. Maybe it will even crack your heart open. And if it does—let it.

The poem is called Kintsugi.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, silver, or platinum, highlighting the cracks rather than hiding them. It’s rooted in the philosophy of wabi-sabi—the beauty of imperfection, of impermanence. Kintsugi transforms something broken into something even more precious. A reminder that our scars don’t make us less—they make us more.

But here’s the thing: for kintsugi to exist, there must first be broken pieces.

Our culture is cracking. We can’t stop it. But maybe—just maybe—we can gather up the fragments, cover them in gold, and turn them into something beautiful.

Kintsugi. - Healing the broken lineage together. (if you prefer reading, here it is)

I’m broken.

I am broken.

I AM broken.

I am BROKEN

We are broken.

But don’t turn around

Please don’t switch off.

Stay present with me.

Because I need you to see.

Don’t you put me

in the corner just yet.

Where dusty and

lifeless

things live.

There is life force

inside me

And I still want to give

But first,

I need you to see

That I AM

In fact

Completely

And utterly

Broken.

Broken pieces of me

Broken pieces of you

Have been

Scattered

around the Earth

For way too long

A mosaic of broken

Women

Crying tears

Of unfelt grief

Infertile wombs

Cold and empty

Stagnant energy

With no pulse

Lineages of

broken bodies

And broken hearts

Perpetuating

The delusion

And the confusion

That says the answer is

To fight

Modernity

With its insanity

Whispered

into my ears

Soulless tales

Of power and greed.

Swayed by my female cycle

That is

By nature trusting

I agreed.

And I played a role that does not

Honour

What I came here

To this Earth

To give.

I care for the world,

You see.

I hold the hands of your

dying friends

As they exhale themselves

Back into

The mystery

But make no mistake

I am not naive

Even though

That may be what you believe

You think I can’t see

The stupidity

Often displayed by our

Stubborn in-humanity

Let me tell you.

You are wrong.

I am not naive.

But you see,

the world will

Kill itself

If I don’t believe.

So I do.

And so should you.

I have to confess

It’s been a tad confusing.

Modernity’s values

Entered inside me

So deeply

That I enacted

all I could see.

And Modernity said

The life cycle

Yes, the one that lives in my body

has no value

In it for me

So I forgot

To be cyclical.

And became,

Well…mechanical

a bit hysterical

But that's a fucking joke.

Because my role

is to be magical.

Denying my cycle

Extinguished my magic

It dried out my spark

It’s made me lethargic

To the point

That all I could see

All around me

And everywhere else

Were tales

That confirmed the state

Of my broken self.

These tales

Kept telling me

It’s unsafe

to give birth,

Unprofitable to care

Unnatural to nurse.

Ok, I can’t give birth,

I say.

Please tell me what to do, doc

So, I know how to behave.

We’ll gladly help, they say

So they lay me into a bed

My legs widely spread

My soul no longer there.

And I blankly stare at the ceiling

Apologetic and shy

As I watch sharp metal tools

Suck my power

As I stifle

A cry

But it doesn’t end there.

With no recognition

Of my sacred role

as life-giver

And life keeper

The milk inside my breasts dry

Like a dead river.

I can’t breastfeed I think.

I am good for no thing.

And all along, I blame myself.

How can’t I give birth on my back,

With my legs limp and strapped?

What's wrong with me

I ask.

Maybe

My love is too wild

My care is too strong

My energy is too inviting

My rhythm must be wrong.

Over and over, I have given thanks

To modernity

Thank you

For stripping me of

My sanity

For shaping me so well

So I could fit

In the story

that you wanted me tell.

I’ve been dammed

Like a body of water

that we wish not to move

Like a good piece of music

we don’t know how to

groove.

Like an energy that is too wild

I’ve been dammed and damned.

But now I am awake.

And I see.

The DAMMAGE.

I am not blind anymore.

to all the ways I have agreed

to give away my core

I did let myself go

So I could fit into

this broken world.

But our diluted version of reality

has gone way too far.

So now, please listen when I say

No

Fake tan

Is not the same as health

Followers And money

Do not equate

to wealth

invaluable

Does not mean

No value

And Invisible

Does not mean it doesn’t exist.

Come sisters,

let the floodgates open

And the waters

Flow wild

There is much to undo

Don’t ask us to be mild

These waters

uproot old trees,

They cut new land

They move big boulders

They take the weight

Off our shoulders.

These waters

Destroy our

tame illusion

that progress

equals safety

And clarity rules

Over confusion.

The swishing sound

Unleashes

the energy

that had locked

Me into

Complacency.

Paralysis calls for

Catharsis

This is, in fact, the first step.

But be mindful,

It cannot stop there.

“Me too”

Moved us forward.

It made us see

through dark veils

How hurtful

Humans can be

And the damage

that it entails

I am a community creature.

And I need all of YOU so I can create.

But I live separately from my sisters

And our love

Has turned to hate.

Like old milk

that has gone sour

We’ve forgotten our ways

And have given

away our power.

For centuries

We either fought

Or despaired

But now

What we need

is to repair.

My role in the world

Is to remind you

of the beauty

Of everyday chores

Where mundane

meets the sacred

And it’s impossible to

be bored.

I am a woman

I’m here

To heal

And to Destroy

I channel

The Light and the dark

Just like

Helen of Troy.

Kintsugi

Turns trash into gold

Art composed

of broken parts.

I am kintsugi

and so are you

We need broken pieces

To create something new.

Your pain is not yours alone, my friend.

We have been made of one single bone

Your broken story is also my story

Let us together

Turn despair into glory.

I am Kintsugi, and so are you

Let us now remember

what is ours to do.