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i went to the seashore 

where it doesn't matter anymore

[the be good tanyas]

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I pressed down on the mound of clay, thick and soupy like bread dough, and drew up a mug for the first time in months. I couldn't believe how good the pressure in my wrists felt, how lovely it was to watch the silty water erupt between my palms and stream down my hands exactly like blood, the perfect half-moon slivers of clay under my nails.

I couldn't believe how easy it was, after so many broken and collapsed things, after so much time away, to create this cup on the first try, perfectly. It felt so natural, the wheel singing under me, muddy towel slung over my hip, the conversations taking place on other wheels blending into this pleasant background blur. The cold dirt smell in my nose, the clay sucking at my thumb as I opened up the piece, the way that feeling always reminds me of what my dad says about staring into the abyss, or the abyss staring into you.

I guess I feel like lately I've been in danger of being disconnected from my body, and this- the white fingerprint on my pants leg, the half-smile from my instructor when I looked up from throwing- saved me. I can't fake things well, and yesterday reminded me that the things in my life and in my nature that matter are the ones that come naturally, slowly, like rain that falls miles to reach the ground.