Success

I opened the door and saw the tall slender 

lying lifeless, 

dead and white.

Dead as clay.

Split and gray.  

Slim streak of amber like a tear.  

I don't know my body now.  

We tore the rest of the bricks down, frenzied.

Here and there are the others.  Open.  Broken.

Some with a sad film of black ash, the possibility of colour,

some with patches of relief, windows of what might have been

a world, a landscape.

I step back and babble, angry.

Talking too much again.

I sat down on the platform, then

curled up, shuddering and sick.

Lee as always, silent 

to the point of madness maybe.

Say something.

I got up, and we continued to move the door away, 

the front wall, brick by brick.

what happened what happened what happened what happened what happened

Shelves of work, brown and gold

orange and brown and gold.

Every Iga pot is gone save one, a mediocre mockery.

Time.  Love.  Money.  Muscle.  Memory.  Sweat.  Love.  Time.  Fear.  Joy.  Hope.  

Everything is gone?

Not everything is gone.  

Try this, he says.  

Gold.  Wheat.  Chaff.  Summer.  Gold.  

Three small cups.  Brightly textured, a green stream.  Falling rain.

There are many beautiful things here.  Tiger tokkuri.  Fire-kissed cups that fit our hands like gloves.  Two gorgeous metal-purple tsubo.

***

In my dream, I saw you mirror winter and at once all seasons, all together.  Snow melted in rainbow flow over the curves of your body.  In my dream, your bodies were all dreams of diamond snow; impossible, austere, awash in atmospheric blue, cyanic.  Ultramarine.  I dreamt of ice blue azure rivers of pure colour, blue within blue within cerulean within opalescent blue. 

***

There are many beautiful things here.  Honey-dusted tawny vases.  Flaxen cups and ochroid teabowls.   

The mood lifts a little and we strive to balance thankfulness and self-critique.  To call this firing a failure fully, is to deny the many beauties.  However, one-third a kiln load of work is no success.  

We re-assess.  We re-examine the firing.  In hindsight, everything was wrong.  Some things were wrong.  Nothing was wrong.  

This was the firing of misinterpretation.  Be more open, be more closed.  Close the damper.  Talk to me.  We underestimate the draw.  We overstate the flame.  We ignored the coal bed. We forget to see, to look, to heed.  We forget to pray.  We forget who is in charge here.  We miss the deeper meaning.  

Oh Hell.  Oh Buddha.  

My heart is breaking.  

Why do we keep going?

Because we have to.  The continuation is the work.  Dedication is the way.  The failure is the tenacity is the success.  We say Yes.  I do.  I do.  I do.