a slap on the thigh

I went to the potter,
To see, not just look,
To listen, not just hear,
To understand, not just learn.

A lump, shapeless and small,
No worth, mere brown clay.

Two hands, crossed legs,
A firm grip, a twinkle in his eye,
his arm raised, my eyes wide.

Wham!

Hard on His leg, where thigh is knee,
Blow after blow, clay as club,
No flinch, just me wince.

Why the beating, why so harsh?

Potter shows, my eyes move close,
Brown clay? No, long grains.
All particles, as atoms,
Moving in chaos, for each its own.

Wham!
Grains shift, ends align,
Purpose coming to chaos.

Wham!
All in line, no trace of self,
Clay made soft, now to mould.

I went to the Potter,
And saw my life in brown clay.

Jer. 18: 2-4

sč
KL, 10th March, 2007