Spirit Cloth

Stitching a String of Feathers

 

And yes there is still stitching.

Maybe I have slowed down even more, just to make it last.

I am lining the streaming with silk. The gentle pull of the stitches forms a soft curve. I feel like these long narrow cloths are like the old skin shed from the serpent of days.

Revitalized

What a winter in one room.

The rest of the house fell apart.

I finished painting the bathroom. Expecting guests this summer. I love to paint things white.

The old CD cabinet just fits there. A tiny space, this extra bathroom, more like a closet. This looks fine after some white paint.  I don't have CDs any more anyway.  Stored most of my music digitally and gave them away. And I don't buy them. No plastic comes with downloads. And less stuff. More space.

She is a mirror.  Always liked that  idea.

 Handwoven linen washcloth by Susan Johnson of Avalanche Looms.

A Long Time

It's been a long time since I bent a needle.

That's probably because it takes a long time.

Today, I realize I am a bit like this needle.

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.

 

Connected

 

Streaming

Overlooking