My Conversation with the Black Pot

This morning, as I stood in the kitchen, a simple daily chore took an unexpected turn. I was washing the dishes, as usual, but one pot in particular caught my attention. It was black. Not just because it was dirty, but because of its color. A black pot, which seemed to want to speak to me.

I scrubbed, I cleaned, making sure that every trace of grease, every residue, was gone. But with this pot, something was different. Its blackness made the work more difficult. How could I be sure that everything was clean when nothing was clearly visible? The blackness absorbed all certainty. I scrubbed over and over again, with the fear of leaving behind an invisible stain. This simple act of cleaning was becoming a doubled effort.

That's when the reflection began. What if I was working in vain? What if everything was already clean, but deceived by this opacity, I kept exhausting myself unnecessarily? What if the dirt had been gone for a long time, but my lack of visibility forced me to keep striving, futilely?

Then, a voice seemed to emanate from this black pot. It said:

"Christian, lift me up and take a closer look. Do you really see that everything is gone?"

I lifted it, inspecting every corner, and I saw traces. Faint residues that I hadn't noticed at first. I began scrubbing again, thinking it still wasn't clean enough. But the pot, in an almost mocking tone, asked me:

"Are you sure you need to continue? Are you certain that what you see isn't a permanent stain? Perhaps what you're trying to erase has been part of me forever. But who's to say these stains aren't recent, and a little effort would easily remove them? You see, my blackness confuses you."

I stopped, thoughtful. This pot was right. The inability to clearly see the result of my efforts pushed me to exert more energy, to invest more time, more effort, even though perhaps everything was already clean. Or perhaps these stains had been part of its identity for a long time. How could I know?

The Deeper Dimension

This conversation with the black pot suddenly took on a deeper dimension. It revealed to me a universal truth: sometimes, our relationships with others are like this black pot. Some people, like this pot, plunge us into uncertainty. It feels like there's always something left to fix, something left to clean, even after we've done our best. They never give us a clear picture of what they truly think. We can invest over and over, without knowing if our efforts are really making a difference.

There are friends, loved ones, colleagues, who, whether intentionally or not, never reveal what they truly feel. Like this black pot, they hide what they hold inside. They leave us in doubt, pushing us to keep trying to fix mistakes that perhaps no longer even exist. Or, they maintain the ambiguity so that we keep apologizing, keep fighting for their forgiveness, keep seeking their approval.

But there are also those who remain silent, who never show any sign of dissatisfaction, even when we hurt them. They let us believe that everything is fine, but deep down, they accumulate unspoken resentments, hidden wounds. And we, like with this black pot, continue to interact with them, unaware of the invisible marks that have never been cleaned.

The Question of Self-Reflection

So, what to do?

As the black pot showed me, the problem isn't always with others, but sometimes with ourselves. Are we too demanding of ourselves? Are we too obsessed with the need to be perfect, to the point of exhausting ourselves unnecessarily in relationships or situations where the effort will never bring us peace? And what if, sometimes, we are the black pot ourselves, opaque and difficult to understand? Perhaps in some situations, we are the ones leaving others in confusion, unable to show them what we really feel.

It was then that an unexpected thought crossed my mind: what if not everyone sees what I see? What if other people, looking at this same pot, felt nothing? Saw it as just a simple object, nothing more. Why could I hear what it was telling me? Why was it speaking to me? This doubt awakened a deeper question. Maybe I could hear it because, somewhere, we shared something. An invisible connection, a hidden similarity. What if, in reality, I am myself a black pot?

The Mirror Effect

This discernment, this ability to perceive what others do not, isn't it a reflection of my own condition? Perhaps, like this pot, I am surrounded by an opacity that does not easily reveal my truths. Perhaps, like it, I carry marks that others cannot erase. Deep, old scars that only someone with the same nature could recognize and understand. After all, it is said that only similar souls recognize each other.

This thought troubled me. What if what I perceive in this pot is merely a reflection of my own introspection? What seems opaque and mysterious to others, may not be to me because I am familiar with this darkness. Because I am, too, an enigma to those who try to understand me. And what if, instead of always trying to clarify everything, I should accept that some things, some people, some aspects of myself, will always remain veiled? That there are things that can only be understood by being a "black pot" oneself?

The Final Lesson

This black pot taught me one essential thing: sometimes, it is necessary to know when to stop. To recognize that some efforts, though they seem justified, are in vain. That some stains cannot be erased, and that we must learn to live with them. And above all, we must learn to look at ourselves with the same honesty. Because if we do not know ourselves, we risk spending our lives cleaning stains that never existed.