Last Sunday, I joined an extraordinary group of men in a one day workshop. It never ceases to amaze me the magic that can bloom from a circle of men showing up with authenticity and willing to explore their vulnerability. One of the activities we did during the day involved the use of clay. At the end of this practice, we all were entirely covered with clay. No wonder that people were stopping by to admire us. A circle of man, standing still on the shore, covered in white clay head to toe. Like a group of statues from some ancient Greek temple. We were beautiful. Really. At least, this is how I felt. Beautiful. The clay hiding all my imperfections. So, I was standing there. Still. The sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, the slight chill of the breeze. And the clay was drying out.
One Apple A Day #615 - out of the clay
One Apple A Day #615 - out of the clay
One Apple A Day #615 - out of the clay
Last Sunday, I joined an extraordinary group of men in a one day workshop. It never ceases to amaze me the magic that can bloom from a circle of men showing up with authenticity and willing to explore their vulnerability. One of the activities we did during the day involved the use of clay. At the end of this practice, we all were entirely covered with clay. No wonder that people were stopping by to admire us. A circle of man, standing still on the shore, covered in white clay head to toe. Like a group of statues from some ancient Greek temple. We were beautiful. Really. At least, this is how I felt. Beautiful. The clay hiding all my imperfections. So, I was standing there. Still. The sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, the slight chill of the breeze. And the clay was drying out.