When Babcia passed on, I had a dream of Colin and Chyako in the city, and they urged me to come downtown (we were in NYC) to meet with a wise old person who had the teachings of the pots or so it was inferred in the dream-intuition. I was late, I don't have the knack for being on time with ease, and the wise old person had left--who was such a joy and full of humor--but had elucidated the essence of the pot; such as the being we are when alive that is imbued in our bodies, and releases when we pass on.
There is such a wisdom in the symbol of pottery as well, when you focus down upon the wheel you give the clay your energy, your essence, a precious strength and gentleness; every person's pots looks like themselves.
It is true, I've taught not long but it is true, every person's piece is so uniquely themselves; it can touch your heart if allowed.
We imbue for a time in our lives, such as we imbue a pot of our forms, and in the end it is utmost peaceful yet sweetly sorrowed as the earth settles and returns, and the sky lifts. Such as a pot when it is broken.