Drunken Pottery

 Picking up pieces of broken pottery, stumbling to a work table, fumbling with their hands, looking for Drunken Pottery. Empty bottles in a dark and empty room, dulled senses struggle to register this familiar scene. The hands have found the table, the eyes see little, and the mind rears in it's drunken stupor as it attempts to do something useful. The sharp edges of the broken pottery stimulate it's memory. The rugged hands regain some sensitivity. The pieces are collected and brought to a large container filled with water and decomposing fragments. Thoughtlessly the hands drop the new additions and nearly tremble with the anticipation of fresh clay. 

The conditioned self has no place in the enlightened mind.