“One day the people of Jericho said, “Elisha, you can see that our city is in a good spot. But the water from our spring is so bad that it even keeps our crops from growing.”
2 Kings 2:19-22 CEV
He replied, “Put some salt in a new bowl and bring it to me.” They brought him the bowl of salt, and he carried it to the spring.
He threw the salt into the water and said, “The Lord has made this water pure again. From now on you’ll be able to grow crops, and no one will starve.”
The water has been fine ever since, just as Elisha said.”
The Clay
It is evening
It is morning
It is a new day
Early in the morning
Olasom walks to the bank of the river
He scoops up the clay by it’s edge
And carries it back to his cave
Olasom kneels on the floor
Places the clay on a reed mat
And slowly picks out all the impurities
Foreign seeds
Dried bones
Withered leaves
Olasom washes it with water
And places it on a pedestal
A Potter’s Wheel
And begins to shape it
Olasom fashions a bowl
It could be a dish
It could be a cup
Depending
On how you look at it
It is simple
But beautiful in its symmetry
The perfect tapered curve
Thin yet strong
Olasom turns and builds up the fire
The furnace that never goes out
That melts the strongest ore
Yet turns soft clay into hard stone
With loving, gentle care
Olasom places the bowl on a large metal platter
And inserts it directly into the fire
And leaves it there
It burns
Yet is not consumed
It is transformed
Olasom waits
A time
Two times
Half a time
Then reaches in
With his own scarred hands
And removes the dish from the ashes
Olasom sets it in a high place
To cool
To rest
To recover
The Sea
It is evening
It is morning
It is a new day
Olasom walks to the sea
He carries a leather sack
He stops by the tide flats
The tide was high
The storm was great
The heavenly bodies were aligned
The sea came in too far
And could not return
It died on that shore
Salt is the bones it leaves behind
Olasom waits
Until the sun is hot
And the salt is dry
Olasom scoops it up
Brushes off the seaweed
And the sand it was built upon
Then rinses it with brine
Olasom places it in the sack
And carries it away
The Wasteland
It is ending
It is beginning
It is the day of the Lord
Olasom takes the new bowl
He puts the salt in it
He fills his leather sack with provisions
And heads to town
The town is well-situated
Where the River meets the Sea
But its Well is bitter
So the Land unproductive
One Like A Son of Man
Goes to the Spring
And hurls in the Salt
And smashes the Bowl
“This is what the LORD says:
I AM Healing
This wasted land
Never again
Will this water cause sickness
Never again
Will my fields fail to produce fruit
I the LORD
Have spoken this”
Epilogue
Lord
Is this vision about me?
“Yes”
Am I OLASOM?
One Like A Son Of Man?
“Yes
But not yet”
What do you mean?
“Today
You are my bowl
Forged in the flames
To carry my salt
Wherever I take you”
Amen.
I am the handmaiden of my LORD.
If I must be crushed
That the land be restored
So be it.
Radically Happy 