There is an old story. Sen no Rikyū, the Japanese tea master, was invited to tea by a man who owned a prized caddy made of a special pattern. But Rikyū didn’t take much notice of the caddy and left without comment. The owner was so upset that he smashed the caddy to pieces.

A friend collected the broken pieces and carefully glued them together. He later invited Rikyū to tea and used the mended caddy.

Rikyū spotted the caddy immediately. “Is this not the same caddy I saw elsewhere some time ago?” Rikyū said. “When it is repaired like this, it has really turned into a piece of wabi.” The friend was pleased and returned the caddy to its former owner.

Things fall apart. And we spend much of our lives trying to keep things from falling apart. The Japanese speak of wabi (austere beauty) and sabi (rustic patina): finding beauty in imperfection and impermanence. A way of noticing what happens when things are changed by time. When they no longer pretend to be perfect.

Another story. When Rikyū was still an apprentice, his master told him to sweep the court – after the master had already swept it clean. Rikyū shook a tree, letting a few leaves fall on the ground.

The problem with telling a story is that it has to wrap neatly; otherwise, it wouldn’t make a good story. Life rarely allows such neat corrections.

My essays may make it sound like my life resolved more cleanly than it ever did. In truth, it more closely resembled constant breaking and mending. And some broken things could not be mended. They still had to be carried.

At times, beauty has appeared too, though it never removed the cracks. It appeared in the patina of weather, age, and austerity. It didn’t make what was broken whole again. But it did reveal something truer.

Some days, nothing felt mended, and everything looked like a crack. I showered, attended meetings, told stories to my children, and kept going anyway.

One last story. Rikyū was and is considered a master among masters. When he was in his seventies, Rikyū incurred the wrath of his master, the feudal lord Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and was ordered to commit suicide. He made his final tea, then wrote his farewell verse.

The stories of Sen no Rikyū are drawn from Zen and Japanese Culture by D. T. Suzuki.