It's been a long time since I bent a needle.
That's probably because it takes a long time.
In some simple way. I sense something IN me. The part that endures. That which does not break but bends. Does not break because it bends. Remaining ever useful.
It's a been a long time since I began the cloth we call Home.
So much time has passed. One needle. I woke up thinking that maybe the witnessing of time passing is as important as the cloth itself. (The children have been watching.) To know that it, has in itself, taken on the shape of persistence. Which clearly , on this day, I sense, once again, is the key to new form. And how we learn.
These final days with the cloth, I feel them as the most important. The freeing of the feathers and stones from the main cloth. Being one with that will stay with me forever. There is something special there. I think they have become more immediate as dream catchers. Free.
How dreams bend our waking thoughts. Give us a glimpse of the power of imagination. New eyes.
I look at these strings of feathers. What if I had sewn them all end to end. Would they reach around the world? Probably not you say. In my dreams, most definitely. I wake up. Yes they do. In so many ways not yet counted.
Fringe is my symbol for continuing.
Notes to self:
Bend like a needle.
Catch your dreams.
Water the garden.