|In the Japanese festival of Hari Kujo, broken and worn needles are set to rest outside shrines, thanked for their hard work, article here.|
That at any hour on any day I may find (figuratively) my knees weakened by the sight or knowledge of a previously unknown delight for the eye or mind or spirit or, generally, all of the above, causes me to declare myself permanently wonderstruck.
Learning of the Hari Kujo festival yesterday via the writing of Mister Finch, himself a wonder, then discovering the date of the annual festival is Feb. 8, my birthday, set all my senses tingling. I was brought to speechlessness by a celebration so profound and humble. Thinking of all we owe to - would we call them service objects? - and to our own hands as the means of livelihood, the means of keeping ourselves and our families fed and clothed, transported, protected, educated and entertained, my heart sighed for women. Read the link to learn more of what the needles and pins represent.
Reading of this festival caused me to look at my hands, offer thanks for how well they learned the skills necessary to care for myself, my family, to create, to embellish, to add color and silliness and surprise in unexpected corners. When we become wonderstruck, we are shifted on our foundations, pushed to the often teetering edge of the unknown where the only known element is awareness of wonder, that we are not who we were a moment ago.
|Antique silk kimono.|