a weaving loom as a kid? Imagine that as you sat there weaving patterned scarves with all sorts of zigzags and swirls, it was actually YOU being woven.
Imagine that all around you were voices and behaviours and patterns and mannerisms that you witnessed and watched and mimicked.
Imagine that’s why now you sometimes find yourself saying the things your father says. Behaving the way your mother does. Experiencing the wealth, the adventure, the trauma, the abuse, that
seems to repeats in your family history.
Imagine all these wiggly little patterns, woven into our unconscious minds, that then play out in our acts and small actions. Patterns that, as the days go by, create the very material of our history.
Imagine an old Sicilian man, leaning crookedly on the crumbling wall of an ancient cathedral. What’s been the weave of his life?
Imagine a truck driver, hunched against the wind as he lights up a cigarette outside his local pub in Hull. What patterns and conditioning have woven together to create his past?
Imagine you are here.
And look! You are holding that spindly thing that I can’t remember the name of, but which is bundled with all the wool necessary to weave today and the next part of the patttern in the scarf.
Doesn’t that make you feel creative with your time? It does me. Am now off to run up a hill. Love xxx