Empty bowls seem to be everywhere lately.
When I arrived at my friend's house for a blessingway for a pregnant friend, I was delighted to see a beautifully handmade bowl, made of fabric and twine and stitches. The colors of the earth, brown and green, and the color of blood, the earth of the womb, are distinctively different from my empty clay colored bowl that sits upon my table. And yet, both empty bowls speak of a hospitality, an openness, and a reception that I had not noticed before.
But my friend's bowl is a birthing bowl. It is a bowl of creation. Throughout the night we offered blessings and small objects that hold the treasures of the earth: shells, wool, lavender, poetry, a needlepoint thistle. These were our offerings and our blessings for a new birth. With its hues and textures and imperfect form, this bowl holds the whispers of the eternal.
My bowl, it still remains empty, waiting for something, although I know not what, but it too holds a whisper. As I now consider its emptiness as a sign of hospitality and an openness to Divine love, I too await for a new birth, and my soul feels the pangs of early labor.
Synchronicity, I love when it happens, another whisper.
No comments:
Post a Comment