Wednesday, October 17, 2007

The Single Thread

The single filament appears before my eyes like it has conjured itsef from thin air. The silky thread stretches from the corner of my laptop, at a 35-degree diagonal, upward and to the right. My eye can only follow the thread a short distance. Then it seems to dissolve into nothing.

I climb on my chair and follow the silvery cobweb higher, but I cannot trace it to the ceiling. The line is taught; there is no slack. I must trust that the connection to the ceiling is intact, tho I cannot see it. There is no sign of the spinner. She is invisible, too.

I try not to move my laptop all day. I want the thread to remain intact. I want it to remind me of the many paradoxes in my life.

That I am strong and delicate at the same time.

That I cannot always see where I'm going or where I've come from, but there is a direction.

That magical, whimsical things can attach themselves to the mundane in my life.

That I may have to adjust my perspective to see them, and even then, I may not see the complete picture.

That the spinner shows herself in all of nature. That I-We have been given both the gift and responsibility to enjoy her and to protect her.

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