The Woman in the White Kimono

A life with love is happy. A life for love is foolish. A life of if only is unbearable. In my seventy-eight years, I have had all three. Grandmother would often say, “So it is with sorrow. So it is with happiness. It will pass.” But even in my old age, when I close my eyes, I can still see the distant flicker of a thousand tiny lights.

To understand your direction, you must know both your roots and your reach.

Repaired objects hold even more beauty as the restoration becomes part of the object’s history.

Time does not discriminate. It does not care if we are happy or sad. It does not slow or hurry. It’s a linear creature, traveling in one direction, constant even through pain.

Time is a stubborn creature that delights in goading you. When happy, it sprouts wings and flies. When waiting, it drags through thick mud with heavy feet.

To know your direction you must know both your roots and your reach

Sorrow and happiness do not pass. They burrow in deep and become our bones. We stand on their uneven legs, trying to keep balance when there is none. There is only love. Only truth.

To just know a truth is not enough. First, you must understand. And it requires bravery from two people. One to speak it. And one to listen.

What is truth but a story we tell ourselves?

To pick the correct one is fate. To pick the wrong one is also fate.

Heaven is not some place for your future spirit to rest. It is finding happiness in your current state. And likewise, there are no locks on the gates of hell; it is only suffering and only for a time.

There once lived a man who loved dragons. He kept paintings and statues of them everywhere and could talk on and on about the majestic beasts to anyone who cared to listen. One day, a dragon heard of this man and his appreciation for his kind. He thought it would surely make him happy to meet an authentic dragon. So, he caught a strong wind and changed his course to visit him in his cave dwelling. When he arrived, the dragon found him sleeping. The man woke to see the giant beast coiled by his side with glistening teeth and green scales reflecting in the moonlight, and he was terrified. Before the dragon could make his introduction, the man reached for his sword and lunged, causing the dragon to jump back and slither away. Sometimes, when Grandmother told this story, she said the dragon represented liking the idea of something more than the thing itself. Other times, she said the true dragon is our real selves, a truth we must sit with and face.

Anger rips free from a tongue too often silenced.

The Red String of Fate is an old East-Asian belief. It is said the heavens tie a red cord around the little fingers of those ordained to be together. It is an invisible thread that connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

. . . my love is as your shadow, unshakable and always behind you.

We often wish to destroy what we’re scared of, but by doing so, we destroy ourselves.

In life, the wise make their own heaven while the fool complains of hell, but I think both are inevitable, and both are temporary. Heaven is not some place for your future spirit to rest. It is finding happiness in your current state. And likewise, there are no locks on the gates of hell; it is only suffering and only for a time.

Truth has a proper time, too. If it comes too early or too late, it is both a lie.

Love and a cough cannot be hidden for it takes everything not to run or shout.

Once we meet and talk, we are sisters. – Japanese proverb

Grief releases in spurts. This is heaven's design. If it didn't offer moments of repose, we would die beside those we mourn. Like a switch, it flips agony on and off. On, we are strangled by death until we are near it ourselves. It clicks off before we suffocate. This is the void, the vacuum of nothing.

Sudden trust brings sudden regret, so I am careful, even among new and cherished friends.