The Japanese Teacup Poem Poem by Romella Kitchens

Maybe at the edge of existence one hears the voices of wind chimes sounding enchorale. There is a merciful body of water off of a merciful shore or dock and our souls rest sometimes in small bowls or cups or, maybe we wait one for the other in a formative of body. I simply know cups and rice bowls have meaning to me. I made a ceramic cup once, the experience had spiritual worth to me it was not a perfected manufactured assembly line cup it was imperfect, real and within that: beautiful. Yet, making one cup as one human being is an extremely weak comparative to thousands of years of culture. Although, it is done with respect. I have read Soetsu Yanagi, 'The Beauty Of Everyday Things, ' he speaks profoundly of folk art, real art, seeing and knowing. I translate the worth of Folk Art into my own culture, way of doing things, poems, art...Are we all maybe perhaps characters in a wood block print hanging on someone's wall? Do our souls emerge from God's kiln? If we were a perfect 'clay, ' what then would we be here to do and to learn? If we craft a perfect mirror will we truly see ourselves in it? Or do we have fear of rejection for the normative lack of perfection? Should our conscious always lead us or is the subconscious also a guide? Think of the natural nature of the heart, the simplicity of an emotion. I quilted a cover for my Yanagi book. A man from such a different world and time than mine yet, I feel I understood his folk art writings. As the world is multifaceted, we should never be presumptive of complete cognition of concepts as they may tremble and shift just like our globe.