When we limit, or worse – label – ourselves, we close ourselves into a box – a small, four-walled room. One where we cannot fully stretch, see sky, or feel wind, rain, sun. We are told by society, by our families, and then eventually, by ourselves – who we are. We start to believe that we are not capable. We become defined by what we think we can or cannot do. By doing this, by buying into it, we restrict ourselves.
When have you allowed this to happen? Maybe it is happening now in your life . . .
Burst through the confines of labels. The four chambered heart has so much more potential, so much more room to breathe, beat and grow, versus the box we sometimes place our lives inside of.
“To uncover your true potential, you must first find your own limits and then you have to have the courage to blow past them.” -Picabo Street
The Potter’s Wheel
fire turned to ashes
And we, alchemy at its best
transform to gold.
The hammering of parts that stick out
just a bit too far to be called beauty
Molded we are in earth’s turning hands
We all, on pottery wheel,
One hand comes upon us, a new shape takes form
We spin, spin, spin
More water of time added so we don’t harden, or worse, crack
Not time for kiln yet –
still being designed.
Moving in circles
Orbiting around us,
Those we love, like, dislike, don’t even know
A stranger can come along, place a caress upon us
Turn us faster, lift up a drooping edge
While someone who claims to care can approach
with a fist to flatten
Or fingers to pinch,
creating edges, lines that may need a smoother embrace.
We find ourselves in loving,
capable shaping hands once again
echo of past touch leaves a thumbprint,
Mark that may remain
a place that others will run through one day
Life, that turning potter’s wheel.
Continue to move
Yes, fire can turn us
deeper into a solid shape
So that we may be painted, flowers gifted inside
Or perhaps a pitcher to pour clear, clean water
Set upon a beautiful table
Serving loved ones that come to dine
Oh the shapes we can take!
Perhaps you are a bowl,
collecting jewelry at day’s end
Or a jar, a jug, a pot for climbing ivy
a plate for mixed greens
All so different.
Cracks can become beauty,
unique qualities seen as divine
Where light can enter and water can trickle from –
Never a flaw
But a way out, through, in.
The spinning wheel
They say a potter throws her clay
Tosses it, and there it takes shape in air
Wings spread out from vision of breath
Alchemy at its best
The wheel, the fire, the hands, all work together
Turning clay into creation
What will you become on this potter’s wheel of life?