Reweaving the Dream
It is time to reweave the dream.
To unweave false ends
and false realities
to welcome new stories.
To let the true light shine
Unceasing in its All-Glory.
It is time to reweave the dream.
To unweave false ends
and false realities
to welcome new stories.
To let the true light shine
Unceasing in its All-Glory.
Radiant loom
even couched in slumber!
All it needs is hands to bend
in humble hearkening
Reclaim the whirling wheel
and set the mark to wending
While
slender and fat beads,
all strung together,
are perched
As birds on tree-limbs overlooking
a vast unfolding river.
And so
In remaking this cloth
we are given unto the grace of loving;
In seeking to mend
we are born into comprehending.
In breaking ourselves
we are discovering sacred secrets of rebuilding.
In forgetting ourselves
we come closer to discovery.
(c) Summer Blake 2019
The Significance of Seasons
For those of us living in an area of the world gifted with the full range of all four seasons, winter can be a difficult time of year. Bounded in by cold, our bodies are caged indoors and forced to sit in muted stillness, and the sun’s light is dim and occasional. Our souls ache, weighed down by these burdens. We crave the open sky, the whisper-breath of warm sun on bare shoulders. But the warmth so freely given in the summer months is but a distant memory. And as the long cold months drag on, our longing sometimes turns toward depression and despair.
In truth, what we are waiting for is for things to “get better.” Waiting for spring is waiting for signs of change to appear. Many people trying to change a habit decide to implement the new routine in the new year, the dead of winter. But two months hence, it’s still barely March and most have abandoned their commitments. They feel exhausted and depleted, and the weather is just as dismal, if not worse. Thus, they aren’t able to sustain the change. (Perhaps the physical signs of change aren’t yet visible.) They go looking for proof, don’t see it, and tiredly give up. They went looking for spring, but it isn’t ready yet. It’s a long process, and it’s hard to stay patient.
To me, the nature of winter is similar to that of the cocoon. Western culture finds it difficult to be comfortable with this state of being, because it embodies inaction: on the outside, there is a seeming stillness. Winter is cold – there is a lack of external, dynamic energy. In winter, all appears asleep. And our culture doesn’t value stillness. We are encouraged to constantly do more, work harder, keep moving, no matter what is happening on the inside.
For those of us living in an area of the world gifted with the full range of all four seasons, winter can be a difficult time of year. Bounded in by cold, our bodies are caged indoors and forced to sit in muted stillness, and the sun’s light is dim and occasional. Our souls ache, weighed down by these burdens. We crave the open sky, the whisper-breath of warm sun on bare shoulders. But the warmth so freely given in the summer months is but a distant memory. And as the long cold months drag on, our longing sometimes turns toward depression and despair.
In truth, what we are waiting for is for things to “get better.” Waiting for spring is waiting for signs of change to appear. Many people trying to change a habit decide to implement the new routine in the new year, the dead of winter. But two months hence, it’s still barely March and most have abandoned their commitments. They feel exhausted and depleted, and the weather is just as dismal, if not worse. Thus, they aren’t able to sustain the change. (Perhaps the physical signs of change aren’t yet visible.) They go looking for proof, don’t see it, and tiredly give up. They went looking for spring, but it isn’t ready yet. It’s a long process, and it’s hard to stay patient.
To me, the nature of winter is similar to that of the cocoon. Western culture finds it difficult to be comfortable with this state of being, because it embodies inaction: on the outside, there is a seeming stillness. Winter is cold – there is a lack of external, dynamic energy. In winter, all appears asleep. And our culture doesn’t value stillness. We are encouraged to constantly do more, work harder, keep moving, no matter what is happening on the inside.
Yet in slumber, deeply burrowed into ourselves, we are gifted the opportunity to do the deeper work, bring into being what shall soon come to flourish in brighter days. Just as a woman carries a growing child within the dark space of her womb, so too is the world steadily coming into being in the darkest of seasons. We neglect to conceive of the cocoon-shroud of winter as a safe space! It is not a time for us to be roaring and dancing about; rather, it is a reminder, enforced by elemental forces much greater than we, that we sometimes need respite to keep on growing.
The sacred space of a cocoon is one wherein potent transformation takes place, although it is not yet visible from the outside. Sleep, too, is a place where we access powerful subterranean aspects of our consciousness. Far within, even beyond, the shell of the physical, we recede into the deepest parts of ourselves, effect changes on a nonphysical level, and thereby lay the groundwork for what we will manifest in the coming year.
To me, the beauty of winter lies in its ability to hold space, rather than energetic presence, for us. We are given this precious time to let things that have died come away, so that we may mourn, and then allow ourselves to open that space for the nourishment of new things. And the birth of the new is not meant to come before its time. If winter lingers, then it is a message. Sit quietly with your emotions and allow yourself to feel them. Be with your thoughts and allow them to take the long and winding roads into greater realization. That is why we are given space: so that we may contemplate how to meaningfully fill it when the time comes.
Embracing complexity with compassion
Life can certainly be complicated sometimes. We have the capacity to know and learn so much, but sorting through the information available to us is its own particular challenge. We long for that one clear voice that stands out, ringing like a bell from amidst a clamoring, chattering room of dissonant voices. The one that says, Here is what you need to know. Here is what’s indisputably true. Just know this one thing, these few simple things, and you will have your answer. You will have the peace of mind you seek.
There is no denying that we can never completely escape the quantum complexity that can make life and decision-making so incredibly challenging. We can’t be certain how to navigate conflict in a relationship, what to choose as a major in college, or even figure out which toothpaste brand to buy. There are so many choices—so many directions to take!
Life can certainly be complicated sometimes. We have the capacity to know and learn so much, but sorting through the information available to us is its own particular challenge. We long for that one clear voice that stands out, ringing like a bell from amidst a clamoring, chattering room of dissonant voices. The one that says, Here is what you need to know. Here is what’s indisputably true. Just know this one thing, these few simple things, and you will have your answer. You will have the peace of mind you seek.
There is no denying that we can never completely escape the quantum complexity that can make life and decision-making so incredibly challenging. We can’t be certain how to navigate conflict in a relationship, what to choose as a major in college, or even figure out which toothpaste brand to buy. There are so many choices—so many directions to take!
For me, creating art is a practice that returns me to a state of balance. I find in the seeming chaos within my art a beautiful surrender to complexity; and through the method by which I structure and order my art, I discover insights into how to manage the complexity of my own extraordinary life.
Take a look at one of my pieces, and you will instantly see that there is always more than meets the eye. Even in only two dimensions, there are layers, symbols, and stories in abundance. I’m often delighted to hear that someone has picked up on something in my work that I’ve never noticed. At the same time, there is a sense of ritual that grounds my work. The repetition and precise mathematical structure of various elements are deeply soothing to me. I crave excitement and passion and joy, but if I fly too high, I drift off like a kite. Patterns, whether they involve self-care or specific daily routines to help maximize my efficiency, keep me grounded. My art integrates the perpetual need for balance and stability.
We humans need to be broken open in order to transform. We need to have our routines and rhythms challenged, lest we live in complacency thinking that old, stolid ways need never change. And yet we do also need to feel secure to a certain degree, and this expresses itself differently in each individual. One person may find a fearless sort of pleasure in jumping off cliffs attached to a bungee cord, yet is unable to fall asleep at night without cuddling up to a stuffed animal he has had since childhood. Another may travel for a living and have no need for a fixed and dependable living space, but one day, her laptop, which has been her steadfast companion across thousands of miles, crashes. She has to buy a new one, but it isn’t the same. The keys feel different on her fingers, and something isn’t right. She loses steam, and her fervent penning of the daily travel blog that has attracted thousands of global followers wanes as she tries to adjust.
Within complexity, there is both order and chaos. There is always underlying structure, although it may be difficult to detect beneath a myriad of shifting layers, textures, emotions. As we humans stretch our awareness further and further, we may struggle to grapple with the immensity of what lies beyond our immediate sphere. The beauty lies in embracing it—all of it. Once we relax and allow ourselves to surrender to the infinite complexity of substance, form, and that which is Beyond, we slip into that dance ourselves and become one with it, and find the way that we are effortlessly meant to go. We find the connection to the underlying order of things.
In accepting the complex dance of life, we are no longer disconnected Self, frightened and worrying—we are woven securely into the very seams of the cosmic fabric, part of All. We are creating, and we are created. We begin to comprehend, intuitively, the innate meaning that doubt and confusion often prevent us from perceiving. And so we move toward a life full of purpose, and through the process of seeking and questioning that leads to wisdom, also toward growth.
Toward balance, and the healing within.
November has thus far been a beautiful opportunity to release into yin energy state, which is very much the opposite of my instinctive tendency to fill my life as full as possible with pursuits and activities, fearing always that if I am not creating then I am doing nothing meaningful, that if I do not stay active and engaged, I am losing invaluable opportunities which may never come again. That I can't ever take a break because I will miss something critical.
I am turning away from that more and more as I realize that my need to heal, and that it, me, the act of becoming, is more important, and that ceaseless frenzy of energy I have been trying to engage and output runs counter to my personal needs right now.
Releasing, stepping away - it is so difficult, because our culture does not encourage it. We are encouraged to fill our lives fully with activity, from working all day to binge watching television at night as we reach out unconsciously for food and drink to fill our bodies. When stressed, there is a pill to take or a tea to drink. Even meditation is a "thing" to try. A skill to learn. These learned ways of processing our world are shaped through the values our culture espouses and spreads from generation to generation, person to person, all enshrined in the lush promise of commodities and possessions: That we must seek them, must seek fullness. We are afraid of being without.
November has thus far been a beautiful opportunity to release into yin energy state, which is very much the opposite of my instinctive tendency to fill my life as full as possible with pursuits and activities, fearing always that if I am not creating then I am doing nothing meaningful, that if I do not stay active and engaged, I am losing invaluable opportunities which may never come again. That I can't ever take a break because I will miss something critical.
I am turning away from that more and more as I realize that my need to heal, and that it, me, the act of becoming, is more important, and that ceaseless frenzy of energy I have been trying to engage and output runs counter to my personal needs right now.
Releasing, stepping away - it is so difficult, because our culture does not encourage it. We are encouraged to fill our lives fully with activity, from working all day to binge watching television at night as we reach out unconsciously for food and drink to fill our bodies. When stressed, there is a pill to take or a tea to drink. Even meditation is a "thing" to try. A skill to learn. These learned ways of processing our world are shaped through the values our culture espouses and spreads from generation to generation, person to person, all enshrined in the lush promise of commodities and possessions: That we must seek them, must seek fullness. We are afraid of being without.
Finally understanding that I can let go for a while is redeeming, but also very frightening at the same time. Because I don't know what to do with myself if I am just sitting on the couch. I feel this is time I can use to catch up with a friend, do the last few things in my garden before winter, play with my cat who wants attention, read a novel, research that thing I wanted to learn more about, start 10 new art pieces, make myself a snack, take out the compost, organize my closet, anything, everything.
But it is also okay just to sit here and be still. For when I don't take that time, the clamor of life becomes so relentless that I do not stop to think and make the right choices for myself in a myriad of moments.
When I do not bind myself to the illusion that every moment must be full, I invite in room for change. I can listen for the flow in motion around me and not have to get involved. I can just sit. I can just be.