Weaving the Threads.

feltpoppies
The Remembrance oak in my village. These felted poppies have suddenly appeared in the wintry landscape.

Thankyou for all your comments and feedback on my last post, about that hairy behemoth called blogging. It’s been really helpful actually.

I’m in the process of designing a new space, (*sigh*…yet again), with a non-WP platform. I’m hoping it works, but if it doesn’t, then I’m taking my bat and my ball and going home to Blogger.

As I mentioned, WordPress and I don’t really gel, and for someone who likes designing clothes in my head, I don’t have a tech-design brain. Or maybe it’s just patience that I lack. Happy to go with that. WordPress makes me feel like a toddler with a crayon, on the verge of a tantrum, told to go crazy on a public monument.

It’s good to realise one’s limitation so relatively late in life.

For all those who bother to return to this ever-changing (can’t say evolving) space, I do thank you for your saintly patience.

But I’ve been thinking a lot lately, especially since my last post and your wonderful comments, (but also inspired by Mel’s writing), about this blogging thing; and how fortunate I am to encounter readers who are a bit Old School like myself with reading. As in – you like to read. You know…books and stuff? And text-heavy things don’t seem to bother you as they now bother the increasing majority of interweb readers. Because that’s where it’s mostly at now.

Our human impulse is to reach out and feel connected to something, to others, to feel alive, stimulated, inspired. But because of the saturation levels, we are often reduced to the glance, the skim. Information passes through us at lightning speed, we retain very little and move on to the next. We get a kind of fatigue, a mental indigestion. It’s a kind of feeding frenzy, but it mostly seems to feed the hunger, rather than sate it. I’m often reminded of No Face, the hungry ghost in Spirited Away.

And I got to the heart of what troubles me about this excess of consumption that creates hunger, (apart from the excess), is the lack of narrative thread. The lack of connection between yesterday-today-tomorrow. The erasure of meaning, of story. Shifting sands, erasing yesterday as something redundant, outdated even before nightfall. As though nothing matters except now…now…now, and also that shiny future moment, that never speaks, nor listens to here.

I should preface this and say that there are times when I like the bright and shiny, and I’m a consumer of this too. I don’t stand in judgement of this, or point any finger. I’m just interested in making meaning.

Also I’m a reader of the stand-alone article, as much as anyone. And I completely get why this is the way to say, run a business. Providing offerings that are contained, useful, and serve a purpose. So, yes. I get it. The stand-alone has great value, and is a gift in itself.

But for me, (not running a business), I want to bear witness to the narrative thread of a life – and not just my own. Not in an intrusive way, (I don’t have to know someone’s personal details), but to connect with others within a narrative, where you sense someone’s yesterdays, what’s brought them here into the now; because we’re historical beings.

I want to invest in caring about those diverse narrative, personal threads. Those tiny sparks that are held in the vast night of the world, seeing and feeling how we are all connected in some way. Simply because we make it so. Because we choose to see one another, and the beauty that resides there. In often quiet ways. And we make that matter.

In that way, we may bring a humanity to something disembodied, an abstraction that’s also a technological tool. We become the architects of something soulful and dignified, because we choose to honour the dignity and wholeness of a human being, and the human story. We walk a spiral that contains an internal logic and ancient rhythms amidst the chaos, and noise, and spectacle.

So I will continue to stumble along, catching the threads of days – of ideas, hopes, aches, losses, loves – weaving them together as best I can, (although they are usually a bit of a tangled mess), making sense of things because I feel, well, everything; and encountering those who do too.

Warmest wishes to you. xx

 

 

 

 

8 thoughts on “Weaving the Threads.

  1. I return to write a post in blogland after a very long break, and to catch up on happenings in others’ worlds.
    When I come here to yours, I find uncannily familiar words such as hopes, aches, losses, loves.
    Of yesterdays and todays.

    And of threads – which for me seem to have ends that slip through my fingers and cannot be grasped – lamenting my own life’s tapestry to be left with sections forever unfinished and bare.

    I enjoy your writing very much. It is clever and comforting.
    And your previous video an autumnal mountain delight.

    And, while I find some fast paced, short worded networking platforms beneficial for a certain purpose, one can’t fully immerse before having to quickly move on along the conveyor belt.
    Unlike when reading a blog post.
    The richness of words written at length for one to absorb, then digest, the thoughts and experiences of others is far more enjoyable, and entices one to rest and stay awhile.
    A welcome respite in this crazy, hyper world.

    I myself found WordPress too haughty for my eternal ramblings. Not at all as friendly to me as Blogger was. And so, there I stayed. I’m too insecure to want to risk being admonished for not being able to find my way around, by a more (seemingly) intellectual platform 🙂

    xx

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    1. So lovely to see you here Vicki – thanks for stopping by, and for your beautiful comments. Sorry I’m a bit late in responding, it’s been a big few days here.

      I certainly relate to so much of what you say, the ends that slip through our fingers – beautifully said. Yes. There is a richness that comes from stopping, absorbing, processing. I think too I am becoming more sensitive to these things (and everything) over time. I always thought that I would somehow get tougher as I got older, a bit inured to things. But the opposite is true, and I feel the world and life as magnificently tender things. That can also lead to overwhelm amidst all the hyper.

      I chuckled at this: “I myself found WordPress too haughty for my eternal ramblings”. I think that’s very much me also!

      I must pay you a visit – lovely that you’re writing again. xx

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  2. Happy sigh… You give me the desire, to write again. I did once. A real post. With words. Maybe not with amazing thoughts. But with a bunch of words. ,-) And then, I went right back to just a couple of photos, and very few words……

    Hmmmm…..

    How quickly I can fall back into the “But I know that people don’t have the time to spend on my posts….” OK. Be that as it may. So what? if they don’t, they don’t. What difference should that make to me???????

    But if there are 2 people out there, who do want to know what’s going on in my mind……. And I let them in…… Isn’t that better???? Yes, it is. 🙂

    Again, thank you. You inspire, my Dear. You inspire.

    I’ll never have your way with words. Or even with thoughts. But I don’t need to! All I need to do, is give myself space and time, to let my thoughts translate into words. And then, send them off, like little bits of dandelion fluff, poofed off on the breath and the wind. Mmmm, I like that! -smile-

    Wishing you well, with your quest, to find the perfect blog space… The perfect one, for you.

    Tessa

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    1. Thankyou for such lovely words, Tessa. But I certainly don’t think my way of blogging is The Way, by any means. It certainly runs counter to much of the blogging wisdom. And I always see where I can edit and slash and cut. I leave it in on purpose though, as a flawed journal, rather than polished writing. To be honest, I’d have no time for my other writing if I was that careful here.

      Your blog is perfectly charming and delightful. I have been wanting to visit people lately, and have found myself skating off elsewhere towards myriad obligations. A busy time.

      But today, I will go a visiting, and drop by your lovely space. xx

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  3. “And I got to the heart of what troubles me about this excess of consumption that creates hunger, (apart from the excess), is the lack of narrative thread. The lack of connection between yesterday-today-tomorrow. The erasure of meaning, of story.”

    YES. i’ve been thinking lately that one of the most unsatisfying, emotionally crippling things about the deluge of information, images, and adverts is its utter lack of meaning. we are designed to make meaning of our world. it’s how we think, how we learn, how we construct and nourish our personalities, how we communicate with others. except, we do it less and less now. and then wonder why we all feel so overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time! so…trammeled, yet empty…

    a world full of mirror fragments is not a story. reflection is not meaning. our hearts and minds require more than a shiny, slippery slideshow of snippets.

    wherever your writing lands, i shall read it…always inspiring.

    speaking of writing…a letter is very much owed. and will happen, soon! should have been this weekend, but i have spent the last 4 days in bed/sofa, intermittently delirious, sweating off a particularly nasty virus caught at my first day on a new yoga gig. it’s a pilot endeavor, to bring yoga (movement and mindfulness) to very young children in a subsidized daycare…infants to 5 year olds, if you can believe it. (i almost couldn’t, but did it anyway.) the first thing that greeted me as i entered the facility—glaringly bright, yet dingy, as only such place can be—was a panicking caregiver cradling a tiny baby and waving a thermometer as she shouted out frequent temperature updates, and tried to keep the infant from going to sleep before the paramedics arrived. (apparently it’s no manner of use calling the parents when children are ill, and they were concerned about the child’s heart rate and breathing as well as the fever.) later i learned that the baby was a year old, not the 4 months i believed her to be. not a preemie, but low birth weight at full term, and displaying all the hallmarks of ‘failure to thrive’…when i held her briefly, before the medics took her to hospital, i was inundated with a feeling of not just sickness, but deep sadness. i think i got sick as much from that moment, and everything else i saw that morning working with the children, as from the ambient viruses…

    those children’s lives need meaning as much as anything. they ate up the bits of narrative i offered as part of the yoga (silly stuff: tiger is hunting in the jungle, etc), and begged me to sing the one nursery rhyme they knew over and over with them, many acting out the story as they chanted it. they even sat happily through a brief ‘rainbow’ meditation, apparently delighted by the idea of rainbows in their bodies.

    they deserve to be part of a world in which they can participate in making sense of things. so much in their lives is chaotic, and they long for stability. they need to be seen, heard, loved, and given the keys to a kingdom of story that could help them interact constructively with the world, as well as making it more bearable when it fails to provide what they deserve.

    again, it all comes back to meaning…we all need that in the deepest ways.

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    1. That’s such an amazing (and moving) story about you teaching yoga to those children! And the way they sink into the familiar chants and stories and rhythms as a source of comfort and predictability; which no doubt the children would crave.

      And I well understand how we can get sick from a moment of profound emotion, when our defences are lowered. I do hope you’re through the worst of it now. And I do so love what you’re doing.

      “…they need to be seen, heard, loved, and given the keys to a kingdom of story that could help them interact constructively with the world, as well as making it more bearable when it fails to provide what they deserve”.
      It’s a true kind of magic, that.
      Much love to you. xx

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  4. I feel like I’m late the party again. Always late to leave a comment. But it gives me time to mull over what you write.

    I’ve struggled for a while with the platform of blogging. Personal blogs certainly do have narratives that are often hard to quit. I’ve wanted to move away from it because I feel like I expose too much, but a friend recently told me that she reads my blog for the process among other reasons. So maybe what she refers to as ‘process’ is similar to narrative. It’s the backstory, I guess, and for many of us who like to read blogs it’s why we read them and keep coming back. It’s so nice when our stories overlap and connect through narrative. It’s relieving when somebody puts words to something I’ve been feeling and have yet to explain.

    I think what I really want to do, instead of quitting my blog, is to put another book together. I want finished pieces, prose that feels formed and whole.I just have to remember that the mediums are different. It’s okay sometimes to publish fully formed poems or prose on a blog, but without the backstory, narrative, process, I might lose the essence of what it’s about.

    And as far as the technicality of wordpress, I guess it is a bit cumbersome. I’ve spent many minutes and hours just trying to move the margins on my site. I know enough about coding to get myself in trouble. And then add in the email delivery programs! Blogger starts to sound like a dream. Who needs the headaches when all we need are words?

    And meaning? I think I would rather be useful. I sometimes feel like ‘meaning’ is a bottomless well. I find it and then I find myself digging again. I find it again and dig some more. For me, being useful feels like I’m bringing something tangible to the table. Or maybe they are two words, use and meaning, that equal the same? They just feel different to me. One feels tangible and one feels like air.

    Marge Piercy’s poem, ‘To Be Of Use’ is useful to me. It grabs me every time I read it.

    “The people I love the best
    jump into work head first
    without dallying in the shallows
    and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight…”

    I want to thank her for writing such a useful poem.

    Anyway, long comment. I’ll end it here. Can’t wait to read more of your narrative! I hope you find a beautiful and simple space to publish from.

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    1. No, Nicole – you’re never late. In fact, I’m the one who is late to respond and join in the conversation here.
      It would be so great if you did a book. And I get that – I had thoughts about quitting my blog and focusing on my book. But they are such separate things. In the fiction I feel I do deeper, and at times darker than here. This kind of writing is just my life bubbling over like a busy kettle.

      You’re right – meaning is a bottomless well. I’m someone who innately constructs and sees patterns in everything, and so my instinct is to find meaning. But being of use is something that strikes a strong chord in me. My expression of this is “being of service” – as a fundamental drive/aim/ideal.

      That poem is wonderful. It reminds me of my grandma, who was that person and whose no-nonsense voice I often hold in my head. xx

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