The Spirit of the Place

February 13th, 2009

My guardian Buddha has lost his nose as the result of being knocked over by winds or maybe the neighbor’s cat. I like him better this way–as if his spirit had been tested and tried. As if he had ended up in this raggedy, weedy garden bed and was making the best of it. As if he’d been around the block and had a hundred stories he could tell about what he’d seen. This is no pretty boy Buddha but one that has withstood a few freezing nights and too many unbearable southern August noons. A Buddha for someone who has been broke but not broken, someone’s who’s often lonely but not giving up on love, someone who has a hundred stories about what she’s seen. 

4 Responses to “The Spirit of the Place”

  1. Kathleen Botsford says:

    Your wisdom is deep. Like life itself. You continue to inspire me with every post.

  2. notmassproduced says:

    i like him this way too – he looks like he can keep u strong

  3. V-Grrrl says:

    I have a friend who can’t bear for anything to look the least bit worn or imperfect. She is forever cleaning, polishing, replacing to keep everything pristine. And I’m the opposite. I admit I don’t like saggy sofas but old, scratched, and worn wood is my friend. The pieces I inherited from my parents aren’t old enough to be antiques or unique or well made enough to be collectible, but they have their own stories, the banged up bottoms of the china hutch reminding me how many times my mother’s Fuller brush broom hit wood while chasing crumbs and dust balls, the rings on the dresser surface reminding me how her houseplants sometimes were overwatered, the scorch mark on the kitchen table, a reminder of a hot popcorn pan put down without a trivet to rest on.

    I have tons of old pieces from my husband’s family too–dressers with peeling varnish and broken trim, mirrors discolored by the years, chests with drawers that stick.

    Yes, this is my life. This is my home. These scuffs, dents, and scratches don’t ruin it for me, just make the vision and the story a bit richer.

  4. Allegra says:

    I guess I am weird because when something cracks, or chips or whatever mars the once perfect surface, I bring out my gold leaf and brushes and turn the “mar” into an homage to the beauty of survival. I honor the “flaw” by gold leafing the thing to a fare thee well and there it sits, forever enriched by the choice of the Fates. I have never forgotten what I was told many years ago at a tiny village in the Middle East when asked to find the “flaw” in a handmade gorgeous carpet; I replied it was perfect, and the guide said –
    “It cannot be. Perfection is reserved for Allah”.