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  1. When I center, I find there is a quality of listening about it... listening to my hands, listening for that small, still spot in the center of that waiting disc of clay to sing, 'Here I am!" and in my fingers plunge, down to the future floor, feeling the weight of future walls. Centering is like that big, steadying breath one takes before the plunge... listen to the wobbles, correct, convince, collaborate with that wodge of clay until it is ready to become whatever my imagination deems fit.