Today there is a strange object like a collar with hooks lying on the bench. (Does anyone know what it is?) A young couple cross the street to my side, exclaiming “Wow” as they look down over the hill at the long knit line. That alone makes the whole hour worthwhile. A man rides up the hill on his bicycle, his cowbell tinkling. (Only in Bellingham!) Two ladies are out walking, canes in hand. They tell me they have been friends for 54 years. Another couple walk by saying they are checking my progress. I tell them I am regressing. The knit line used to be at 14th but now it’s about half a block higher up the hill. It’s either shrunk, or wound tightly in on itself. They offer to pull it for me. I say I hope they will…but they don’t. Near the end of the knit, someone starts tugging very hard on the line. I look down over the hill and see a bunch of highschoolers trailing away down the hill. Someone has made the line into a zigzag design. I like it, and take a photo of it. If I could take a picture of my mind today, it would look like that zigzag.
People who paint (write) traditional Byzantine icons say that whatever happens in the process of painting is a reflection of what is happening in their life. A mirror of sorts. I think my line is telling me to relax, move outside myself and quiet my monkey mind. Or maybe it’s encouraging me to see the beauty even in this tangle!