We, the potters, are respectful of our clay.
I know that some of this clay may even contain the dust of my ancestors…
so how respectful I must be.

And I think, perhaps I too might become part of a vessel, some day!
What a thought… to become useful again and to reflect the Creator’s beauty and love!
As I climb over the mesas and through the washes looking for clay,

I realize that there have been many before me who have taken the same steps
and have made the same search… and have seen the same beauty….
and I know that I am not alone in this search…

For I feel that I am one with the clay… one with my Creator…
one with every living thing…. even the grains of sand.

As I climb the mesas and walk the deserts, I find ancient broken pottery
left behind by our relatives, to remind us
that we have been in this land… a very long time.

There is broken pottery everywhere around us in this land called the Southwest,
so you see, I am at home, whether in the city, in the desert or on the mesas…

Sometimes these ancient potsherds are ground up fine like flour.
These ground up potsherds are added to the clay.
This gives the clay strength so that the pottery can survive its trials.
Our culture, like ancient ground up potsherds, is found at the core of our Indian life.
This gives us strength.

So when I again hold this material in my hand, made by the hands of my ancestors,
their essence lives again… and gives life to my pottery!