1 of set of 4
2000
My friend Laura and I painted 4 cups, two each. We each kept a pair at our home with one cup set aside for the other to use. Unfortunately, creating them took longer than we intended, and eventually I had my pair glazed unfinished which turned out to be deeply symbolic since shortly thereafter, our friendship broke up and we haven't spoken since.
Laura was one of the people who held down a corner of my life when I turned 30. We spoke every week for hours by phone. She was light years ahead of me in her healing process and now in hindsight, I can see how much my co-dependence caused crazy-making in our friendship and how necessary it was for her to disengage. Very painful, but necessary. As it ended, she asked that I not contact her and allow her to reconnect in her own time. I lamented the loss of her friendship for many years, waiting to reconnect. But then after 3-4 years passed, I felt so awkward with the old relationship long gone, that I dreaded starting over again. So, for years, I had this mug and its partner sitting, unused in my china cabinet. But several years ago, I took this one out and began using it as a way of leaning into unfinished blessings and making peace with necessary failures. Two summers ago, looking again at her mug, sitting unused and unfulfilled in my china cabinet, I decided to release Laura's cup into the world to do good and bless others as she does. So I gave it to the Powderhorn Park's Empty Bowls to feed the hungry.
Now this mug has become one of my favorites- large, textured, and brightly colored, I use it all the time. Just got a compliment on it yesterday on its beauty. My cup blesses me now- this pottery one and the cup of my life, too, as beautifully textured peace out of the pain.
And it is my wish that Laura Jane Goles Fabian would read this, know I have wished for her better friends than I could be, and that I drink from my cup fondly now. My heart is open to you, Laura, and hearing you laugh again would bring me joy.
Here is a poem she first introduced me to years ago which I hadn't been able to find again until last week.
The Journey
Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations-
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life that you could save.