is Making, like Dreaming, done singularly? Or is there a Communal energy that calls things forth? That way of thinking that i have, that Cloth, some Cloth, not all, makes itself. Meaning .....what?....well....meaning that this Cloth, for instance was/is a part of an energy far larger than what my own imagination might have imagined. Actually, was unimagined entirely. I had no forethought at any step of the way except as i've said, to sew those two neutral squares onto the plain piece with the drawing of the face. The drawing which was done months ago and somehow remained atop all else on the Table. Just there. A presence. But given no meaning by me.
But then, Cynthia sent this...it's in her comment, but i need it here and i am sorry that i don't know how to change the spacing properly for a poem, so this will probably end up splayed out...but....
Hollow Bones
We locked up our wisdom into our bones And swallowed the keys They sank in our rivers of blood And we forgot the maps.
Because we had to forget the mysteries To keep them safe We wove our hair into brooms And swept over our paths And then burned the earth with our rage We didn't teach our children It was the only way to protect them, we thought
But in them we planted seeds, seeds and keys And told them stories and riddles and songs With no roots, just tangled threads That would take years to unwind
Just enough time
For the rains to fall again and put out the fires For the dams to break For the rivers to flood For the paths to be walked again For the soil to breathe
And as the old bones crumble Deep beneath the rubble We find we've always had the keys
Our stories and our maps Our paths are revealed to some And the seeds grow again The threads are unspun And woven again
Amara Bronwyn
I look at the tangle of thread that came to be the dream in this Cloth. Unimagined ahead, but Put as response.
And almost simultaneously, Julie of Threadingthedog.blogspot posted....and gave an image to help make her point which i swept with a hair broom into my heart... " why would a Syrian mother clutch a toddler in one hand and an aged father in the other and begin a walk through the Balkans in winter?" I asked her where she saw this image, could she tell me so i could go find it and she said
"in my head"
