Clay

Like clay, we are molded. As we age, we dry and become more stubborn, less malleable, fixed in our ideals, our personality, our being. But the hands who mold us have different expressions. Some are fluid with swirling appendages teaching us to trust vulnerably, while others prefer resilient and stout foundations teaching us to be independent and solidified in our ideals.

The drying occurs rapidly, and our molders have left their mark.

Unless we continuously wet our thirst for self-determination by drinking from the fountain of knowledge and the springs of societal engagement, our shapes remain unchanged—defined by our molders. We become so dry and rigid that even the slightest fall can completely shatter us.

Some molders neglect their role leaving their clay to dry prematurely and underdeveloped; some molders abuse their clay until the scars and cracks are permanent features on and below the surface; some molders never show up to the wheel. How much harder it is for the neglected and abused to seek hydration; how much harder it is for them to shape themselves into the clay they were meant to be.

We must remain forever malleable, forever resilient, forever compassionate, forever wet.

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