I need to trust in the unfolding,
like a seamstress carefully laying her fabric out to measure.
I need to hold myself like she holds the raw edges which have yet to be seamed.
Im speaking to myself as if I’m willing the voice of a wise and sage godmother down from a Disney movie to say
“There, there child, just have patience and see what will be created.”
I don’t know about you but I often feel torn between competing narratives.
Between the idea that I should bend life to my will, brazenly directing my ship out to sea
the idea that I should ease back and trust in divine timing, go with the flow and let things play out in their due course.
Perhaps it’s a result of all the mixed messages swirling around in the ether—
“Go after your dreams”, “Have patience and heed the signs”, “Time is the most precious commodity—there’s none to waste”, “Break free from the commodification of time”
It can all be quite dizzying, and with each new “pearl of wisdom”, I find myself wanting to simply throw them all aside and watch in pleasure as they scatter noisily across the floor.
Instead, what I’m trying now:
I scoop down and carve out a little more space within so as to hold all the seeming truths and paradoxes we discover as we go about our business of living.
And where words and platitudes stop, I often find an image arising to meet the moment,
like a rip off calendar with a new quote tritely marking the turn of each day.
This moment? The seamstress knows. Tomorrow? She may be replaced by a propeller or maybe a bird gliding soundlessly in the wind.
I blindly feel my way forward, touching the rough shapes of these metaphors as my guides—a light touch, mind you, because I know when I open my eyes, they will vanish, and all I’ll have are my hands,
bare and searching for the edges in this familiar darkness.