Weaving. Woman.

5.28.18 White Rhythmic Dog GAP

The mechanics of weaving I have yet to grasp. Truth be told, I do not know whether I’ll grasp the mechanics in a rational mind based way, perhaps, anything is possible. As it is, the warp threads have been tied onto the apron rod, and then I wound them up, and I found this winding particularly notable. It is on this set up, this wound up series of strings, white ones, where the weaving is being picked through. And as the threads sail one way then another, a simple pattern comes together as fabric. Yet it is more than fabric, it is a telling of a tale of threads . . . water courses over my hair, streaming down the long locks and onto my undulating mounds, bosom, belly, crevice, thighs, I am the river bed and water flows over me, cleansing . . . I am pulled forward to the moment of being river bed by strings warped long ago, by who? I know not, or do I? Does it matter, for in that instant as river bed I have wound up woven right here, as I am, not as I would have been warped differently . . . I do not know who I am becoming, unfolding into, yet there is something pulling me ahead of myself, some mystery I have not grasped in how this warp has been set . . . yet I understand this mechanic, once the warp is set the weave follows on that warp . . . as far as the color goes, it is constant until the weaving is finished, but while the warp color is static upon it a series of choices determine what pattern will be woven . . .for instance my setup has harnesses 1 and 3 and 2 and 4 tied to two pedals, and it gives a plain over under weave . . .this could change should I choose to tie 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 to pedals, or tie each on their own pedal, or in assorted combinations . . .also the threads picked through may vary in color, heft, fiber, and upon one very same warm, by the mechanics of that shed lifting different strings, entirely new fabric may be woven . . . and so here am I, grasping that somehow I have been pulled through onto a wound up beam and the threads picked through then wound as the weaving went along brought me here, to this now, these conditions and circumstances, ahead of me however is more warp upon which there is no longer other people weaving the fabric of me yet there is a weaving occurring, and in a blink through streaming water this courses through me, do I want to choose how the shed opens, what threads are selected to sail through the opening, how to tie the pedals, without first getting the mechanics down, or do I want to be a warp that invisible hands are weaving upon, a passive warp, unresistant and trusting that how I’m woven is Spirit’s will?

Or is there another way, this one: this whispered dewy dream that says,
“In the stillness, in that centerpoint where you are in harmony with all that is, aligned with Spirit’s will, there is no separation, no identification, no differentiation, not even transcendence or transformation, there simply Is, and from there as you are being so it is being, as you are aligned so it is aligned, as you change the tie ups, the weave threads, make choices and continue picking and weaving, as you do so from the still place of doing while being not doing to do but being doing then everything is as Spirit wills it, for every choice you make will be in response to the relationship between you and Spirit, allow Spirit to guide your hand and it will be so, thus there is no question of who weaves the warp, yourself, invisible hands, they melt away and you sit on the weaving stool when Spirit pulls your feet that way, and as you make choices Spirit guides you to them, it is co-creation, not a master slave bondage this that or the other, simply you Being in center, in harmony, in resonance with all that is and so all that is moves through you and out of you, even when you don’t yet grasp the mechanics of what you are doing yet, like when you gave birth, you didn’t quite get it but you trusted and did it anyway, pulled through by that same relationship that led you to choose as you did five times over, so it is with this weaving. Will you be a master of your craft, a novice, a renowned artist, a weaver who plys her wares? Drop these thinkings and pick up the threads of conception, carry them with you to the loom, sail them through and conceive as you weave, as Weaving Woman, for when you sit down being fully with the loom, the warp, the winding, the tie ups, harnesses, shuttles, boats, spools, pedals, and beater, there is more going on, more that you sense, bring that into the pickings Weaving Woman and as you continue winding you’ll make discoveries along the weaving way.”

Who speaks thus with me? Whose voice am I hearing? Questions flitter through quickly, I swat them away and focus on being: Weaving Woman. Perhaps I’ll weave blankets for my children, sisters, their children, friends, loved ones, people who need a weaving, a covering of warmth, I’ll find out as I move forward Weaving. Woman. Isha and Anousheh, they weave too, dreams sail through the open shed, the threads picked up, over under over under they go, may their dreams be true, may they be within all that is, centered, guided, weaving true, blessed.

5.29.18 Blue Resonant Monkey GAP Full Scorpion Moon

As I was writing last night, power went till past midnight, and the above is all that was saved of my draft, perhaps the rest did not want to be written yet, so I’m not rewriting. Instead there is this other layer over layered onto the warped loom . . .our loom is a microcosmic bit of space that is immediate in our lives, however it is also a presentation or a mirror of the big giant loom, the one that is unseen and being woven by everyone all the time, in all time, timeless, who warped that loom? who created it? did we all cocreate it? the tapestry of the universe, it’s fabric, is being picked through by every living being continuously sailing through . . . thoughts, feelings, what we choose to give our attention to, our actions, words, all of it, the wings of a butterfly flapping, the ants carrying, yellow jackets flickering here there following turning around, deer leaping in the woods in somewhere woods, every single thing is shaping and giving life to the universal tapestry in continuum, do the warp threads get switched out? do they break? get repaired? when one era of living is over, is that when a new warp is set? were dinosaurs a different warp than the one we’re weaving currently? does it all get unrolled as one tapestry and then it’s done? the stars, moon, planets, this one that we inhabit as ‘aliens’ on an earthly planet creatures of outer space, all that is everywhere hummingbird fast zipping over under sideways two pedals up one down, maybe I change the tie ups by virtue of what I did and then the whole pattern to the tapestry changes, we are cocreating the fabric of the universe in this time flow, some know it some don’t yet it’s happening anyway, and so what we weave on the small looms in our face and placed dimension where we are is a mirror at some level . . . I sit down to weave and in my heart I wonder will it be a beautiful blanket that warms some body, my children, a loved one, a stranger in need, a covering for those who are cold and lonely and lost, will I even weave such blankets? I don’t know the answer, I do know I feel how I feel and so I bring with me remembrance to the loom and sing along with the threads and beater, holding an image of whoever needs healing, for the earth, for the sky, for a little forgotten village in memory called Murree, Nathiagali, for the places whose names I don’t know that need love to surround them, for those people as well to be well, and I sing the long time sun shine upon you song as I weave for the sake of weaving and creating unseen fabric upon the seen one, perhaps someday the seen fabric will also unwind as a tangibley beautiful and useful material, I pray all the weaving to be blessed, seen and unseen and inbetween too, and weave on, slowly, leisurely, joyously, unhurriedly; though I have no expertise at the craft, the loom says to me,
“You are weaving Woman, weave on weave on.”

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