A storoem about Man's desire to know that his achievements are real. |
This man was friends with me, a mentor, a fellow college teacher who once preached how satisfying it can be to shape young minds, how molding their views was perhaps teaching’s most rewarding feature. But for years something deep inside him was growing, gnawing, starting to burn – a sense of unfulfillment had made dim his guiding light. He had begun to yearn to be able to verify the value of his efforts. He dabbled in wood working, took up painting… but then came the day he put his hands to clay and molded his first pot – a potter was in the making. His love for pottery was instantaneous, grew unabated. He ‘threw’ pots, bowls, mugs, something new each day. Within two years he left teaching to become a potter who sold his wares far and near. He sacrificed money; he sacrificed prestige, but his inner light burned hotter than in many a year. His disposition again grew sunny. Encountering him years later, I sought the explanation. “Harry, it is holding in my hands the tangible proof of my ability to have an effect that now fulfills my soul. I can hold a thing of beauty, a piece of art in my hand, feel its shape, admire its color, and know, truth be told, this object exists only because, upon imagining it, I can bring it alive. From doubts of self-worth, I remain aloof.” I understood. In this generation of paper-pushers, information movers, computer programmers, to hold something of worth made by your own hands is a rare pleasure, instant gratification; it satisfies the desire for accomplishment imbued in Man from birth. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |