I’ve been thinking about the potter’s wheel. How so much depends on the careful balance of speed and applied pressure.

Too slow on the foot pedal, you’ve got wobble. Too fast, you’re out of control.

We each exist on this wheel of sorts. Spinning through space on an earthen sphere, we subsist in the mysterious still point of perfected gravity. At this very moment, we are whirling about at such speed, moving through our days, molding and shaping our lives.

These events, the infinite details, they unfold as soon-to-be memories. Seven billion lives evolving, each a potter’s respiring creation.

We are crafters, mastering a work in progress. We play with the elements, adding liquid to solid in measured doses. We test velocity, adjusting the speed of our wheel.

We are seated at the messy helm. Hands in deep, slippery, and full of gooey matter. This is the real. This is the good. This is the stuff. Beautiful and wild. Full of a nothing that can spin into something. Anything.

What are you creating?