the story of your life [poem]

The story of your life
Is a soft piece of clay
Waiting to be shaped by the whole of creation

Unknowingly or purposefully or both, we think that the cup is
already formed. This is the way it is, solid and unchanging

If it breaks, it silently leaves the world with no footprint
If it cracks, it has to carry it for the rest of eternity
If it is misused or neglected, then this is writ into its entire being.

I’m here to hold a mirror up to you
To realise that the clay has, and never will harden
To dispel the illusion, that we are fully formed and that we exist independently from the world

Conversing with the world, the sculptor and the clay intertwined, realise that they mutually shape each other. They cannot exist independently.

You whisper, that the clay is still soft, and you realise that it will remain so.
It can be shaped in an infinite different ways,
ways which are sometimes more generous, than the current form