We are sturdy and loyal, sometimes, and do each other great turns once in a while.   We are dependable, sometimes, when we are around, and attentive, and we can do a lot of good for each other with very little effort sometimes.   We will not always save your life at the moment you need it, necessarily, and we will die ourselves.  We do the best we can but we are cracked vessels.

An impatient, immature God, picking me up for some use, exclaims “cracked vessel!” and unhands me like I was a scalding hot tea cup with no handle, before I can burn the minor diety.

“You are a scalding hot tea cup with no handle,” Sekhnet pipes, like the constantly singing bird she is.    (“Oh, no,” thinks Sekhnet, “leave me out of your weird fantasy scape”)   I thnk of each one of them, each vessel I’d lift to my dry lips for a drink– cracked.  

Makes me love them no less, these old vessels, but at the same time it fills me with unspeakable sorrow.