I’ve never been a weaver. And I’ve always been a weaver.
I believe that in the dance of existence, where the threads of life intertwine, lies the sacred art of weaving—a tapestry woven with the colors of my soul and whispers of the divine. Inspired by ancient myths, inner promptings, and the call of the Wild, I find myself embarking (and re-embarking) on voyages of rediscovery.
Most recently, my sincere quest has been to mend the fabric of our world.
Guided by the gentle hand of the Mother, I traverse the landscapes of my inner and outer worlds. I try to weave stories of courage and transformation. I seek to confront the shadows of my past and embrace the unknown with an open heart and eager soul. In the sacred space of inquiry, I am both seeker and seer, weaving dreams into reality and listening to the songs of my soul. And singing my Creeksongs.
My journey takes me to distant shores and forgotten realms, where my ancestors whisper precious secrets.
With each thread I lay, I honor the sacred bonds between humanity and the greater-than-humans. I seek to weave a tapestry of love and reverence. In the stillness of my metaphoric loom, I am seeking the courage to confront my fears and embrace the challenges of climate breakdown.
In my 82nd year, as I stand at the threshold of transformation, I embrace the moment of kairos—the time when the new fabric takes form, and the old gives way to the new. I affirm my commitment to healing the Earth and myself. I am trying to weave a cloth of caring that can bind us together in unity and love.
In the sacred art of weaving, I find some approaches to healing our world. And I find a path to rediscovering my place within it.
Let us all weave with joy and gratitude, knowing that with every thread, we can create a tapestry of beauty and grace.
As I age, I also grow to appreciate the sacred art of mending. So many things are torn. Yet they can be mended, reassembled, and healed. I darn socks with a fierce commitment. A mouse chewed through Chris’s backpack to eat the muesli bar inside. I find a patch to sew over the tattered hole. I mend pillowcases as though my life depended on it. And life responds to me by mending my life.
This week, a man I have been estranged from for 49 years offered to have Chris and me stay with him on a holiday. I wept.
And the General Manager of the municipality where my beloved husband drowned eight years ago (today!) sent a conciliatory message of sympathy on the anniversary of Karl’s death. I am awash with the blessings of other people’s weaving and mending!
As an example, a few months ago, my partner, Christopher Baudat, contributed this sweet homage to his parents (when we were creating the Creeksong audiobook):
In the fabric of my childhood, two threads intertwined with the skill of a master weaver and the precision of a mechanical engineer. My mother, a seasoned weaver, wove intricate patterns on her Leclerc floor loom, a sturdy masterpiece crafted from Canadian maple wood. The rhythmic hum of the loom filled our home, welcoming me after school to a world of creativity and craftsmanship. As I sat beside her, munching on my snack, I watched in awe as she deftly maneuvered the shuttle, weaving together strands of yarn to create everything from shawls to bathmats. Her hands moved with grace, guided by years of practice and a deep love for her craft. Each movement of the shuttle, each beat of the beater bar, was a symphony of sounds and sensations—a testament to the beauty of handcrafted textiles.
Meanwhile, my father, a mechanical engineer by trade, instilled in me a passion for metalwork. I was captivated by the bright, shiny strength of metal and the ringing sounds it produced. Yet, I found myself equally drawn to the organic rhythm of the loom—the whoosh of the shuttle, the thud of the beater bar, and the clack of the heddles moving in harmony.
Together, my parents wove a tapestry of creativity and innovation. My father, ever the inventor, fabricated a counting device from an old ski, affectionately dubbed the “loomerang,” to aid my mother in creating dynamic patterns. It was a quirky contraption born out of love and ingenuity—a true reflection of their partnership.
In the intricate dance of warp and weft, I found not only a connection to my heritage but also a deep appreciation for the artistry and craftsmanship passed down through generations. My parents, with their diverse talents and passions, taught me the value of creativity, perseverance, and collaboration—a legacy that continues to inspire me to this day.
As I reflect on those cherished moments by the loom, I am reminded of the beauty of blending tradition with innovation, of honoring the past while embracing the future. Like the threads of a finely woven fabric, my parents’ teachings have woven their way into the fabric of my being, shaping me into the person I am today. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Recently, I have been told that weaving is to be my new work. Please, readers, help me understand what that means!
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