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I can slip my hands over the lump of your wet clay, smile, and even look away from the wheel—

And it’s centered, smooth, perfected.

But that’s only because these hands have molded hundreds of lumps before.

So instead of doing it for you, I knock it off center,

Then show you your own strength, your own tools, your own fragility.

Everyone can learn this.

You’re only pulling towards the center.

Pulling, pushing, and guiding.

Your two hands working together—

You and the wet sponge making mud.

Once this lump is centered,

You’ll know you can create anything.

We all start somewhere.

Just know we all fail too.

Your hands will one day guide a ball of clay perfectly to the center.

And you’ll feel it.

You’ll be centered.

You might even smile, look away, and laugh.

Somewhere deep inside your muscle memory remembers that

You, too, were once dirt.

That’s all it is.

And to the earth you will return.

Tightly, to the center you will pull---and be pulled.

Slowly, gracefully, you will let go.

And you will learn the secrets of creation.

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