#human-and-machine — Public Fediverse posts

The Kintsugi Man

A Story Told In Tanka Form

Once I was broken,
a man of many pieces,
cracked beyond repair,
so many tiny places 
scattered like leaves in the wind. 

Healing was a dream.
Restoration was elusive.
Much of me was lost. 
I could not find the missing,
my eyes dry from the seeking.

Then mercy found me.
The Great Artist touched my heart,
gathered me to me,
glued the pieces one by one
until I was whole again.

Why do the cracks show?
My question rose to the sky. 
The scars are ugly.
Must they remain forever?
I wondered if I was healed.

Wait, you gently said. 
Dipping your finger in gold,
your love traced the scars -
beauty in my brokenness.
The cracks let the soul's light out.

The Kintsugi Man

A Story Told In Tanka Form

Once I was broken,
a man of many pieces,
cracked beyond repair,
so many tiny places 
scattered like leaves in the wind. 

Healing was a dream.
Restoration was elusive.
Much of me was lost. 
I could not find the missing,
my eyes dry from the seeking.

Then mercy found me.
The Great Artist touched my heart,
gathered me to me,
glued the pieces one by one
until I was whole again.

Why do the cracks show?
My question rose to the sky. 
The scars are ugly.
Must they remain forever?
I wondered if I was healed.

Wait, you gently said. 
Dipping your finger in gold,
your love traced the scars.
beauty in my brokenness.
The cracks let the soul's light out.

The Reluctant Cyborg

The wires as of now are invisible. There are no protruding jacks in my head. My glasses have no special features except progressive lenses, which I guess means my world view skews toward the left. Or maybe they allow me to keep moving forward into the future.

I wonder what tomorrow will hold. Will I die more machine than flesh?

Will I die?

Or will I, as Rodney Crowell sings, go to heaven on a hard disc drive?

On days when my body lets me know in no uncertain terms that it has had quite enough of gravity’s weight, thank you very much, there is a longing for replacement parts with less wear and tear on them. I guess with all my aches and pains, I should be thankful that I, as yet, do not have anything artificial within. Though, that is not to say that those mini machines are not life-giving. There are many whose health has been rejuvenated by amazing tech.

I have been promised a new body. I’ll be honest, the idea of spending eternal bliss in some beautiful realm seems kind of boring, but that’s the overachieving creative talking. I wonder what my awareness will be. And if I am mostly machine, what will translate into the new transmutation.

Perhaps the internet will serve as the repository for my soul, at least the creative part of it anyway, and this treatise one more deposit in the cryogenic chamber of my legacy.