are so integrated into our lives-literally, symbolically and metaphorically.
They hold things for us. Nourishment. Potential. The elements. We
cup our hand and it becomes a bowl. Our whole bodies, too, are vessels.
A mother's womb. A father's cradled arms. A child's lap. The earth
and the heavens, no less, mold their sacred shapes concave as any
primitive clay pot. All bowls contain stories.