So. Again. Amazement with the process of cloth. How it unifies thoughts. Solidifies them. Pulls together disparate scraps of ideas and memories–forgotten threads. How, in the case of this cloth, spending days with its evolution mirrored simultaneous cultural and social events.
And again, as reminder to self, I’m chronicling the process as a personal reminder of the synchronicity of energy. The close relationship between
internal experience and external movement. And the miracle of how it comes together to tell cloth story.
This cloth started out as no thing except color and shape. Color as experiment. Color as an exercise prompted by following the ideas of the workshop I participate in with Jude Hill.
At this point, even though it looked like a rather unsavory hodgepodge of material, there started to emerge a sense of meaning for me. I had been mulling over the concept of karma and free will. Karma specifically as in the notion that perhaps we really DO come into this life predisposed towards certain proclivities–tendencies. And because school had just started and I was observing grand son navigate the beginnings of grade 1, I was noticing also my tendency to “worry.” Then thinking not of grand son, but of this tendency to worry. And as a clear example, remembering a time–and this was more than 55 years ago–a time when I would be washing the families’ dinner dishes, gazing out onto the mountains in front of our kitchen window. Worrying. Not about my children. Rather worrying about the world my grandchildren would inherit. And this strikes me, now, as a REALLY weird thing for a 10 year old to worry about. I wonder at the genesis of this. Nature? Nurture? Karma? I don’t know.
Then the cloth started to have meaning in a different way, and the two mid-body wings became the the arms of the grandchild I’ve carried around inside of myself for all of these years. And the sense began to emerge of our universal connectedness. The web of life that unites us all. As well as the primal urge to protect what we love.
Seasons and cycles and the rhythm of life began emerging in my consciousness. Life and death and rebirth all began exerting their influence and the cloth started moving from the personal to the universal. Universal as in universe. Cosmos. Stars and planets and galaxies–all of which I, in my sometimes earthbound focus, forget to acknowledge.
and as the sky changed and stars began appearing, the cloth reminded me of the oneness of all things–and unified the cloth with the suggestion of circle–the reminder that my life is but one tiny light–bright or as dim as it may be–yet part of the whole–and a huge sense of joy started emerging with this reminder….
and the joy continued as the cloth easily filled in the gaps.
This morning, while I was completing the final stitching, I caught an interview with NPR’s Onbeing with Krista Tippett. She was interviewing Natalie Batalha–a “mission scientist with NASA’s Kepler Space Telescope program.” The program was entitled “Exoplanets and Love: The Science that Connects Us to One Another.” And I need to mention that chemical warfare in Syria has been on the news and again, the question of US involvement–and I have been so, so concerned about ALL of this–and then this program.
Ms. Batalha: Ninety-five percent of the mass of the universe being something we can’t even see, and yet it moves us. It draws us. It creates galaxies. We’re like moving on a current of this gravitational field created by mostly stuff that we can’t see. And the analogy with love just struck me, you know, that it’s like this thing that we can’t see, that we don’t understand yet. It’s everywhere and it moves us. And science has given me that perspective, but also in very logistical, tangible, practical ways, you know. I mean, when you study science, you step out of planet Earth. You look back down at this blue sphere and you see a world with no borders.
Ms. Tippett: Right, right.
Ms. Batalha: You see a tiny mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. You see the expanse of the cosmos and you realize how small we are and how connected we are and that we are all the same and that what’s good for you has to be good for me, you know. I mean, it just changes your perspective.
As I finished the cloth, resonating with the wonders of the interview and the way the ideas seemed to reinforce the story of this particular cloth, I imagined being in space and viewing earth. Looking “back down at this blue sphere…a world with no borders.” And I nodded to myself, “Yes. ” And Ms. Batalha reiterated that essentially we are all created from the same matter–in fact we are all made from the basic components of star dust. Imagine that. And she hurried to say that this was not some new age hippy dippy concept. It is true. So then, what is it going to take?