I wrote about my wooden bowl some time ago (August 2003). I related how a crack had appeared due to ignorance of the need to oil the bowl on a timely basis. The other day, in a moment of clumsiness, the bowl fell to the floor. Now the crack has extended half-way through, a little past the center. It may split in two and that will be its end. The wooden bowl has served me so well that I feel like Ryokan (the Japanese Zen poet and hermit) when he lamented in two poems:
Picking violets by the side of the road,
I forgot my begging bowl.
How sad you must be, my poor little bowl!
I forgot my bowl again!
Please, nobody pick it up,
my lonely little bowl.