The Pot

From nothingness was I created; from formless metal of the earth was I made. I was chipped out of rock by rough and blackened hands, but I was lifeless yet. I was melted down and my impurities removed, but I was lifeless yet. I was poured into casts; rectangular ingots of pure iron, but I was lifeless yet. Then, my Creator saw my lifeless form and saw a purpose within me. He took my ingots from his storeroom and dropped them into flames. He added wood to harden me, and limestone to give me strength. He breathed life into my molten form with great bellows, and then molded me to my purpose; to warm bellies and please tongues. My Creator pulled me from my mold and smiled, for he saw that I was good.

My Creator placed me on a high shelf, along with many other creations. I looked at his work on display and saw evidence all around of his skill; pots of all shapes and sizes, hammers and nails, tools to grow and tools to destroy. Things for many purposes both mighty and mean. I reveled in my purpose and envied not the sword for its sharpness, nor the shield for its brightness. I would fill and sustain; grow and give life. What greater purpose is there than that?

I held great hope and anticipation in my heart. Who would find me? Who would see the purpose my Creator had made for me? What hands would use me to create delights to stimulate the tongue and sustain the body? Days came and went, and still I remained. With every new face that came entered, my hope waxed, and with every face that left, my hope waned. Every day saw my hope and excitement decrease in equal measure. Doubts began to haunt me; did I have some flaw that made me unsuitable to my purpose? Was my Creator somehow deceived regarding my quality? Would I be doomed to forever wait on this shelf, watching the tools around me be bought and put to use? Days turned to weeks turned to months and my hope faded to nothingness. I was forgotten.

One day, a woman came into my Creator's domain. Her face was bright and young, her belly round with new life. I expected nothing, hoped for nothing. Even when she came to look at the array of pots, I still dared not hope. This had happened before and it had hurt every time. I had resigned myself to always be forever waiting. It hurt less that way. Yet, this time was different. She scanned the shelf where I lay until she saw me, and then her eyes lit up like bonfires. I saw in her eyes a future of glad purpose, extending into eternity. She reached out with warm hands and pulled me off the shelf, grunting under my weight. She carried me to my Creator, who smiled upon seeing me. In that smile, I saw that I had not been forgotten. He had remembered me, and he was celebrating with me in my newfound destiny. This was why he had made me, and he was well pleased.

The woman carried me to her home and placed me in her fireplace. It was not a great mansion, nor was it an ill-kept hovel. There wasn't much space, but it was neat and tidy. There were dirt floors, but they were swept clean. Immediately, she began putting me to use. She filled me with water and struck a fire underneath me. I exulted in the fire; a poignant reminder of my creation. In fire was I made to purpose, and in fire would I be put to use. Meat was chopped and poured into me, and vegetables and spices. I was left to simmer over the fire and occasionally stirred. Soon, day turned to evening and a man walked into the home. Dirty and tired, it was clear he had been busy doing I knew not what. His eyes lit up when he beheld the woman, and he gathered her into a gentle embrace, kissing her passionately. It was clear that whatever he did all day, she was his purpose for being. Laughing, she sat him down at the small wooden table near the fire and ladies out some of the food she had prepared in me. I could see the enjoyment on his face as he ate, and it filled me with great happiness. I had accomplished my purpose for the first time, and would continue forever, time without end. I had found my place.

Time passed, days and seasons changed, and the man and woman changed with them. They soon welcomed their first child (a boy), and he began to grow. Soon, the woman grew round again and another child was born (a girl). Both children grew as the days and months and years passed. Every day, the woman would use me to make something delicious and satisfying. Every night, the man would come home to laughter and joyous greetings, and the family would all gather at the table to eat. I was happy and content, watching my little family. I had found my purpose. The children grew into adulthood as the man and woman grew older. Much too soon, the young man (for he could be called a boy no longer) brought home a strange young woman. There were many tears, and I was filled with a sense of foreboding; change was coming. There was a mix of emotions in the air; sadness and happiness, hugs and tears. Soon, the boy left with the girl, and he didn't come home as much. He left a hole in the home that could not be filled. Later still, the young woman brought home a young man, and the same thing happened again, leaving another void in the home. It was just us again; the woman, the man, and me. We were just as we had been in the beginning, except for the memories.

I watched the man and the woman grow old together, their hair turning grey, and then white; their backs bowing under the weight of time and their skin wrinkling and growing brittle. They seemed content with their lives and their children still came to see them, until they didn't. Eventually, no one came. The man and the woman grew frail together, barely able to get out of bed at times, until one spring morning, the fire beneath me grew cold and no one came to stoke it. The man and the woman never got out of bed again. The house had gone silent as the grave. I discovered then that all things pass. Even the most permanent things in this world fade into dust. I was left alone again, and purposeless. There was no one left to use me as I was made to be used.

I waited alone in that cold, dead home for a long time, waiting for someone to find me. The son and daughter came eventually, but no one spared a thought for me. Even the memories of the man and the woman left that home, and it was left empty. As spring turned to summer turned to winter, I was alone and purposeless. One cold day, someone new and strange came in, and hope began to fill me again. He began rummaging through the house, taking things away in great armfuls. Perhaps he was going to find new uses for all these things? He came for me and grabbed my handles, lifting me off the cold-dead fireplace where I had sat so long. So joyed was I at his touch that I failed to see the way he looked at me. There was no joy, no brightness in his eyes. If I had seen that, I would have understood, but I hoped. I hoped, even as he tossed me unceremoniously onto a pile of furniture from the home. Surely he would come back for me and take me somewhere purposeful…but he never did. I sat long seasons on that pile of unwanted things; the last vestiges of the happy life I had lived. My purpose had been taken away from me by cruel time and indifference. Hope left me.

One day, many years after I had been tossed so unceremoniously aside, A new face found me. This time, it was an old man with scraggly hair and a raggedy beard. He looked me over; picking me up and turning me around and around, inside and out. Finally, he grunted; I saw a purpose in his blue eyes, and I was glad again. He strapped me to his backpack, and off we went! I saw so much with that old man; mountains and valleys, small communities and massive cities. I even saw the ocean once, stretching far past the horizon. every evening, he would make a fire, place me upon it, and cook whatever he had managed to scrounge up. Sometimes there were only vegetables and sometimes it was naught but squirrel meat. Every evening though, he retired satisfied, and I knew I had fulfilled my purpose. Life was good and meaningful again.

This time of newfound purpose, of being reborn was much too short. The traveler did not care for me as assiduously as had the woman, and I grew rusted and tarnished. One day, he fell off an embankment and I clattered from his pack onto hard rocks, splitting in two. When he had clambered to his feet, he saw me and ran to pick up my pieces. I could see the sadness in his eyes, the regret; but there was naught to be done. I was broken beyond repair. I could feel it. Slowly, he put me down, back onto the hard ground and left me there. I was a lost thing once again; purposeless and void of use.

So this was how it would end. No one would find me, no one would use me. I was now now more than I had begun; iron among rocks. I had no more reason for being, but my existence continued. I could not bring an end to myself, to my being. I was condemned to an eternity of purposeless existence. Years passed and I was slowly buried under dirt. The rust reached deep, but I could not simply rust away. I despaired, the two halves of me sinking into oblivion. I was done. I fell asleep.

Suddenly, I was woken from my sleep by hands digging through the dirt, reaching for me. Who would be searching for naught but scrap metal? I could not comprehend it. It must be random and yet, strong hands grasped both my halves and pulled me free. I looked and, wonder of wonders! I saw the face of my Creator! I could see in his eyes that he remembered me. He looked on me with kindness and gentleness I had not felt in ages upon ages. With a startling clarity, I understood. I could not be repaired; I no longer had a purpose, but he wasn't done with me. He would melt me down again, scrape away all the rust and ruin in purifying fire, then he would reforge me. I would become a new creation, with a new purpose. Only he knew what I would become, but I knew I was safe in my Creator's hands.