Centering: Lessons from A Lump Of Clay

Recently, my daughter and I took a class on creating beginner projects on a pottery wheel. After a quick set of instructions about how the pottery wheel worked, we were invited to sit down and learn from experience.

Our pottery instructor said, “Centering is one of those things that must be done. It’s hard to explain or teach. You’ll know it when you feel it.” This didn’t seem like helpful instruction until I realized it was exactly correct.

We were given a lump of clay, which needed to be centered on the wheel. We locked our elbows close to our bodies and opened our hands, palms facing each other on opposite sides of the clay lump. We dripped some water onto the lump of clay and gently started the wheel. The clay lump went round and round while we tried to apply enough pressure on each side to rid the clay of wobbles. Sometimes, it became necessary to drip more water as the clay became too dry and harder to work with. Centering the clay was all about balance and moderation. A balance of pressure, a balance of water- too much and the clay would become too saturated, too little, and it wouldn’t soften and mold under our hands. If we pressed too hard with one hand, the clay would shift to the left or right. The balance was delicate, and we knew quickly if we had overdone any single element.

Centering the clay was not something that could be rushed. Centering was not a matter of overpowering the clay. It was gentle, slow, purposeful, and satisfying when the wobbles in the clay evaporated, and centering was achieved.

My daughter thought the centering part was “the worst.” (So boring!)

I haven’t stopped thinking about the physical experience of centering. If you’ve done a meditation, yoga class, or spiritual direction, you’ve probably been invited to “take a few minutes to center.” I thought I knew what centering meant: finding a moment of stillness, slipping beneath the noise of my mind into the sanctuary of the soul. It’s a term that felt clear and a little murky all at once.

Bowls, pots, mugs, and plates are made on pottery wheels. The clay is opened, shaped, and created after centering happens. The opening comes after the centering. We centered the raw, unformed, unshaped, messy lump of clay so that the creative energy had the foundation it needed.

Sitting at the wheel, I learned that…

Centering is active. Gentle pressure is applied to the lump of clay while the wheel spins. The clay will only become centered through active movement and gentle, balanced pressure.

Centering takes time. Small air bubbles, lumps, and bumps are removed through the touch and movement of the potter’s hands. A skilled potter can move quicker than my unskilled hands, but centering must always happen and takes time.

Centering is messy. When the clay is placed at the center of the wheel, water is dripped over it. The water softens and minimizes friction. As the water does its work, muddy water is created, which, in my experience, is messy! (I came home muddy!)

I’m rethinking my understanding of centering after I’ve centered several lumps of clay with my hands and felt the shakiness and wobbles of uncentered clay. I’ve tried and succeeded and tried and failed to find the right balance of pushing and holding steady. I let the clay dry out and added too much water, so I had to start over.

Centering isn’t just a lovely idea- it’s achievable with clay and perhaps our hearts, too? When meditating, practicing yoga, or seeking spiritual direction, there is an invitation to centering. I’m thinking of it differently.

Here’s what I’ve learned about centering, both clay and my heart.

Centering my mind, body, spirit, and soul is active work. It’s not just sitting down and being silent; it’s noticing the wobbles, the bumps, and the bubbles.

Centering my mind, body, spirit, and soul takes time and effort. A potter knows the quality of her product will be determined by her patient centering. If she rushes, centering her clay, it could collapse on the wheel or shatter in the firing because an air bubble wasn’t gently pressed out.

Centering my mind, body, spirit, and soul is a messy process. Water softens the clay, making a muddy, watery mess. The softening must happen for the clay to be usable. In matters of the heart, a softened heart is a heart that can see, feel, touch, and experience the unseeable.

Richard Rohr begins his book Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer with these words, “We are a circumference people, with little access to the center. We live on the boundaries of our own lives…confusing edges with essence, too quickly claiming the superficial as substance.”

Perhaps that’s why the experience of centering a little lump of clay was so profound—centering feels hard to pin down, something recognizable but a little murky about how to achieve. I want to be a center person, I don’t want to live on the boundary of my life, I don’t want to confuse edges with essence, and I don’t want to confuse the superficial with substance. But I don’t always know how to reach my center. But with the clay, I saw a process and the rewards.

A Blessing for Centering

May you find the pathway to access your center. Where you are camping on the boundaries of your life, may you actively, patiently, and messily find your way to the center. May the gentle, oppositional pressure release the wobbles. May you experience the creative joy of living with a centered soul.

Photo by Earl Wilcox on Unsplash

These are my first three pottery pieces, from centering the clay to shaping them. I love them in all their imperfections!

• When you hold your coffee mug, bowl of cereal, or ice cream this week, consider how a lump of clay is centered, and let the centering that happened, at some point, by some hands you’ll never know, be an invitation to your centering.

• Watch this video on centering clay. How does it speak to centering your mind, body, and spirit?

Photo by Earl Wilcox on Unsplash

I found the following poem, which is sometimes attributed to Lao Tzu, an ancient Chinese poet and philosopher, but many people question this attribution. Regardless, the words are meaningful.

Read slowly and notice if a word or phrase catches your attention; see how it resonates within your soul.

The Center of Your Being

Always we hope that someone else has the answer,
some other place will be better,
some other time it will all turn out.
This is it.
No one else has the answer.

No other place will be better.
And it has already turned out.

At the center of your being you have the answers.
And you know what you want.

There is no need to run outside for better seeing,
nor to peer from the window.

Rather abide at the center of your being.
For the more you leave it,
the less you know.
Search your heart and see that
the way to do is to be.

often attributed to Lao Tzu-but this is in question.