When I was a kid I remember the tapestries my mom would hang on the wall. They always fascinated me. The intricacy of the woven design is something that would always draw my eye. The over and under of the threads forming this incredible labyrinth of string, all formed into one huge image. Years later, I am still fascinated with this intricacy of weaving. If I could weave nonstop for the rest of my life I would. The process and motion of weaving is what draws me in time after time. Over, under, over, under, pulling the beater down and putting the threads in place, over, under, over, under. I find myself fascinated with what I am able to achieve with even the most simple of weaves on the most simple of looms. The joy of making is never absent when I am weaving.
I am never more present with myself than when I weave and prepare a loom. I am conscious of every move I make, every thread, every piece of the loom. I know each of these things like I know the back of my hand. Comb, thread, repeat. Comb, thread, repeat. Over and over until I am ready to weave. I let my mind wander as I do these motions, so very aware and yet so far away. I often come back to the thoughts of my loved ones. My mom, my grandmothers, my father, my brothers, my friends. Each of these people have shaped me to be the woman I am today.
I remember one specific memory with my best friend. She went through a particularly nasty breakup and I was there for her every step of the way. We did a spell. A releasing spell. To help her let go of all the ugly emotions she was feeling towards this person who hurt her so deeply. We took herbs and crystals and sentimental things from their relationship and put them in a glass bottle. As we did so I told her to imagine all her feelings about this person were going into the bottle as well. Then we smashed it. We took a hammer and put the bottle in a bag and we let out all our anger. I remember she cried as we did so. She smashed until she was exhausted and collapsed to the ground in tears. I held her after that. We sat together and held each other until she calmed down. I remember that being the first time I had ever felt that close to a person since I was a kid in my mother’s arms. I realized at that moment what a found family is.
That spell was like weaving. So uncertain and yet so certain at the same time. So connected to me and everything I feel. When I am weaving I am myself. I am fully in my body as I weave the threads over and under, again and again. And yet I find my mind wandering elsewhere. How do I choose what I focus on? I could focus on weaving or let my mind wander. I often let my mind wander. Thought after thought repeating in my mind as I pull the beater down again.
Over, under, over, under,
I wonder what this weaving will look like when it’s done.
I wonder how I am connected to this weaving.
Over, under, over, under,
I wonder how time informs who we are.
I wonder how time is related to girlhood.
Over, under, over, under,
I wonder how time affects girlhood.
I wonder if any of it matters.
Over, under, over, under.
To weave is to be myself. To weave is to wonder. To weave is girlhood. To weave is joy.
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