Centering

I push down on the pedal and press my dripping hands against the cold slippery clay. The wheel spins and I steady the mound, pressing my palms down down, in in. Creating some stability. Centering what I can, with what I have left.

It is August, and I have just finished an additional qualification while completing a cross-curricular project for a virtual learning environment with two small kids and limited childcare.

This place, this wheel, this mound is healing. But more than that, it is a reminder of where I am and where I want to be.

The wheel spins and I push my thumbs down into the cool well, particles giving way, opening up, spinning outwards, responding to the pressure. I use my palms to support the thick walls on either side and begin to pull out and then up with my thumbs, the walls rising slowly, precariously. I take my hands off the spinning bowl and wet a sponge in the water basin. I lean in and gently touch the sponge to the side of the spinning bowl, sopping up the extra moisture: clay, debris, a year of pivots, stress, anxiety. I sit back and look down at the bowl. The sponge has left the most beautiful & delicate indentations. Markings of something new. Something I hope will take shape.

I reflect on how easily clay takes on the shape of its surroundings: my palms, thumbs, the sponge. An imprint of life, etchings embossed through experiences. Easily transformed into something new with a little water.

In this moment, with this mound, I let go of so much and embrace the possibility of delicate indentations. This is where I am meant to be: here, centering.