Weaving Time

When I weave my sense of time blurs- I enter a different timeline entirely. Weaving cannot be rushed- it takes the time that it does. It asks for my attention and patience, and I oblige. It is sure of it’s requirement, of the devotion necessary to know it. I trust this certainty. It feels honest and solid.

Weaving does not offer to rush or shrink its presence to be more or less of anything. Its slow expansiveness holds an ancient quality. The same slowness that shapes landscapes over thousands of years, or the slowness that wafts in the air on a warm summer night. The slow of homemade clothing, or a tree building new ring of cells. This ancient slowness is just under the surface if we choose to look for it.

Wisdom brims from weaving’s gentle undercurrent. It demonstrates the power of consistent presence, and shows us how to embrace the process in its unfolding. Weaving knows how to enter the unknown and unformed with curiosity, and how to exit with materiality. I am grateful for the access and teaching weaving shares with me. It feels like remembering something that part of me has always known, and being shown lovingly, over and over again.