On Which I Reflect About Word Choice

I can’t remember when I came to this realization but most likely within the past year. I began to think of myself as a weaver of sorts.

A weaver of energy.

A weaver of touch & breathe.

Then, this evening. Sitting on my bed gazing at a stunning silk & wool handwoven Bokhara rug it came to me.

A weaver of transformation. This rug is not perfectly symmetrical. Neither are we. This rug has many subtle & not so subtle variations. Like us. No two squares are the same. No two sessions are the same. Each subset of pattern is slightly different from the one next to it. Related by the fact that they are both from the same materials.

I came to understand exactly how my practice is a tapestry.

The warp…my knowledge of Tibetan bodywork. The weft…my study of Hawai’ian Lomi Lomi. The loom upon which the tapestry is structured…the shamanic channeling I bring to each session. A holy trinity of technique that I am the sole guardian of. Combined they all work together to create a composition.

Weaving emerged from human hands around 20,000 to 30,000 years ago. Same as Shamanism. I find that fascinating.

Some of my earliest memories are connected to this type of rug. Taking some of my first steps on thick piled orientals at my Granny & Pop’s Victorian home. Walking the length of their dark hall gazing up at the rugs hung from the walls. The ones so high that no one could touch them.That was the point. How still that moment was. How quiet. The hallway dimly lit. Light filtering through the one window on that side of the house. It was the moment that I learned about functional versus non-functional art. These were rugs, but they weren’t on the floor. They were on the wall. But aren’t rugs supposed to go on the floor? No. Not all rugs. Some are birthed in silk and threads so sacred that their sole purpose is to be viewed. This is the rug on my wall.

But my craft. My tapestry. The one rooted in function and beauty. The one that I have painstakingly constructed in intention. This is the rug that I plant my feet on when I dance around the table. As we fly together in breathe & touch. I hope to show you this rug soon. She fills my sanctuary. She is the brightest blood red. She is my stage.