The first time I lived alone the excitement of furnishing, decorating and BEing in my very own space was almost unbearable. The first morning waking up in my new, autonomous-independent-grown- up apartment I made a commitment to my morning routine; a commitment that clearly outlined the importance of preparing, smelling, pouring, and tasting of delicious coffee, a ritual almost as important as a write of passage into adulthood. As I set off to scoop the grinds and brew the water, it dawned on me that I had no proper cup for such an important moment in my life. The search was on.
After an arduous and heart wrenching mission of cup deliberation, my eyes fell upon a perfect representation of what I was seeking. The cup was not too big, not too small; it had the perfect handle, as if made specifically for my grip. It had a smooth, soft rounded edge well suited for my sipping technique. The image was a classic Degas, a women bathing with one leg stretched out, draped over the edge of a claw foot tub and red, flowing hair tussled in a soft bun. It screamed ME!!! I had just returned from Europe where I recaptured my creative spirit within the walls of the Lourve, I was an avid tub-taker, and I always wanted the sexy, long legs of a dancer and tossed auburn hair. It was perfect, and I fell madly in love with the cup that would help shape my morning routine for many years to come.
As with all rituals, intention and emotion are such important elements to the overall experience. I know, deep down, that the beautiful ceramic, Degas rendition really didn’t make a difference in the experience of enjoying a great cup of joe! However, I find that when you specifically claim an intention or give meaning and purpose to something, anything, it alters a person’s perception of the experience. It is because I initiated the cup as symbol of independence, and personal space that brought value and belief to those morning moments of coffee company.
The Cup (now with capital ‘C’ to honor her name and her own personal story) traveled with me like a loyal friend on an exploratory journey through nearly a third of my life. Cup greeted me every morning from upon her shelf where she patiently and proudly perched awaiting my return. She withstood refill after hot refill on long, hard nights preparing for college finals. Cup comforted me though broken hearts, lonely times and regrettable hangovers. She nourished the soul like a mother to a child with warm teas and soups on cold, sick days. She shared the taste of true love on mornings waking from love making. She survived move after move, year after year, flawless and chip free. Cup held thousands of ice cubes through pregnancy cravings. She religiously rose with me to greet the sun for morning meditation and salute. Cup was an exceptional testimony of my personal evolution, an unconditional support system through the hallmarks of my life. Cup was more than a cup, she was a well claimed and heart felt intention, a symbol of meaning and purpose.
At my 30 year mark, after having put my journey of deep healing on hold to focus on the well being of my young children, I became dedicated to venture back into the dark work of self recovery. It was a time in my life when untouched pain and emotion surfaced like an explosive volcano. The forces of nature manifested dis-ease in my body, misperception in my mind and a weakness of the heart. It was a time, clearly, to take on a new form of personal growth and understanding. As I begin to dive deep into the ugly waters of abuse, betrayal and mistrust I felt as if my entire being were scattered into millions of pieces. The person that I had worked so hard to create was not, in fact, as ‘healed’, solid or well composed as I had thought.
On a day when I felt my absolute worst; hopeless and uncertain how to overcome the internal wounds that still felt raw, how to pull my mind back from the scaring habits of negative and destructive thought, something happened that was literally a breaking point of clarity and renewal.
On this day, just as I had for nearly 11 years, I was preparing my morning coffee treat. I filled Cup with rich Kona and placed her near the edge of the sink. Ironically, I made a mental note that was something along the lines, “Hmm, Robin, such a precarious place to set your Cup.” Without hesitating I reached for the sugar, and in my clumsy attempt to obtain sweetness my elbow brushed along Cup. She teetered this way and that way until her full bodied base tipped over the edge of the counter. As if in slow motion I fumbled for Cup; tips of my fingers rolling her from one hand to another until she finally, as if by her own exhausted will, gave her self to the space between my palms where she fell, bravely to the floor. Although my rational mind knew there was a loud crash, my heart withheld the sound and I watched her shatter silently into pieces.
I stood still as the dead, waiting for my breath to return, waiting for the thoughts to come, maybe even panic, but nothing. In a true state of contemplation I did not care to understand how or why this would happen. Surprisingly, the disappointment passed through me like a sudden and quick breeze that did not settle or disrupt too much of my grounding. I simply stared at the mosaic of mug taking on a new shape of its own. Cup still had all the same components; they were just arranged differently, beautifully speckled amongst one another. Because she had given me such unconditional comfort and support through the years, throwing her away seemed cruel and negligent. Despite the break, she was still Cup. I accepted her in this new expression and began picking up her pieces.
As I compassionately gathered Cup a new power of symbolism emerged. She was a clear reflection of me; a reminder that I too, needed to pick up my own pieces of damaged self with love to establish a sense of restoration. The words of my guide, Wise Old Crow, came chiming in, “Life is supposed to be messy, and we get messy.” In my ‘ah-ha’ moment I realized the painful situations in life that are beyond our control are lessons, gifts and opportunities to remember that we are, by nature, complete regardless of shattering circumstances.
Rediscovering and renewing our self is not only in relation to accepting what has ‘broken’ us, but also choosing to embrace the pieces and believing, that no matter what, we are whole. It is the infinite space between the circumstances that holds our spirit, and soul, and it is this expansive space that bridges the gaps. This is the space that unites the layers of self and reveals a unique expression of who we are.
I had purchased Cup from a Starbucks, where on the same shelf I pulled her from there were rows and rows of the exact same mug all awaiting a journey and holding a story of their own. As she flowed with me through the years, in and out of joy and pain she established her true sense of self, and in the end, as I pieced her together she became the most beautifully unique and remarkable expression of self discovery and fare more perfect, whole and complete than ever before.
Many blessings,
Robin Afinowich
