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<\/p>\nby Roger Hutchison<\/p>\n
It has been said that we are currently in a place of perpetual trauma.<\/p>\n
I feel it.<\/p>\n
I feel it from my head to my heart to my toes.<\/p>\n
I feel it in the interactions I have with those around me.<\/p>\n
There is a weariness in my human brothers and sisters.<\/p>\n
A palpable grief in the way their bodies move.<\/p>\n
Shoulders and hearts burdened by so much pain and sadness.<\/p>\n
I weep for the murdered children of Sandy Hook.<\/p>\n
I weep for the millions of people impacted by the wrath and destruction of recent hurricanes.<\/p>\n
I weep for the division, anger, and injustice that is sweeping through this country.<\/p>\n
\u2026and I weep for those impacted by the senseless and brutal massacre in Las Vegas.<\/p>\n
The grief is simply too much to bear\u2014and for many of us, there is a numbness.<\/p>\n
Twenty-five years ago, I took a pottery class at Warren Wilson College in Swannanoa, NC and created several items, most of them not very memorable.<\/p>\n
Today I rediscovered one of the vases, took it in my hands, and much to my surprise, I began to weep.<\/p>\n
Grief washed over me like a waterfall. I cried with my entire being and I cradled the vase close to me as if to protect it from breaking.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Until recently, most of my pottery was with my mom and dad. You know\u2026the place where artwork you create as a child ends up.<\/p>\n
It either clutters the surface of the refrigerator, ends up in a box under a bed somewhere, or like this vase, it sits on the shelf in a guest room and collects dust.<\/p>\n
This vase now sits on a bookshelf in our home and today I gave it a name<\/em>.<\/p>\n The vase is a bit portly\u2014like its creator. It is not spectacular, but it is mine.<\/p>\n I remember the sensation of the wet clay in my hands. I remember the sound of the potter\u2019s wheel as it hummed below me. I remember the feeling of the spinning lump of earth in my hands.<\/p>\n I remember watching with awe (and some disappointment) as it began to look like an ashtray\u2026then a bowl\u2026and finally a \u201cvase.\u201d I use the word \u201cvase\u201d in the most generous sense.<\/p>\n I removed it from the wheel and waited for it to dry.<\/p>\n Days passed. Once it was dry, I applied the glaze.<\/p>\n The glaze is a bit uninspiring before it is fired\u2014dull and thick. I had no idea what it would ultimately look like. It certainly wasn\u2019t beautiful in its current form!<\/p>\n Once the glaze dried, we dug a hole in the ground and filled it with sawdust, paper, and leaves. We buried the pot in those same combustibles and set it on fire.<\/p>\n After a full day of being exposed to intense heat, we covered the pottery and burning material with sand. This last step gives the finished pieces more color and variation<\/p>\n Surprised by grief.<\/p>\n This is the name of my vase.<\/p>\n This clay vessel, created by human hands was returned to earth from where it came.<\/p>\n It was transformed by fire and carries scars and burn marks on its surface.<\/p>\n Wounds that heal but never go away.<\/p>\n The dull glaze now sparkles in the sunlight\u2014a cobalt blue \u201cdrip\u201d spills over from the top edge.<\/p>\n Blue\u2026like the grief that overflows from our eyes and our souls.<\/p>\n Tiny cracks dance across its surface.<\/p>\n Surprised by grief\u2026and the color blue.<\/p>\n All of humanity weeps right now, and the fires are burning.<\/p>\n There is much pain in our world. And we will never be the same because of it.<\/p>\n But the vessel will hold and our colors will shine brighter than before.<\/p>\n And we must carry this color and light out into the world.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Roger Hutchison is the author of <\/em>My Favorite Color is Blue. Sometimes<\/a>. \u2014 available next month.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Roger Hutchison It has been said that we are currently in a place of perpetual trauma. I feel it. I feel it from my head to my heart to my toes. I feel it in the interactions I have … Continue reading