roots and wings

Anchored

Last night, I dreamt that my friend Kim was shooting a movie of my huge ball of knit line when suddenly it started tumbling down a cliff, bouncing off craigs until it splashed into the ocean.  I watched helplessly as the ball of knitting bobbed up and down in the waves, and drifted farther and farther away…

I wonder what it means.  Loss of control?  Fear?  Freedom and exhilaration?  Is the project gathering momentum, taking on a life of its own?  I hope so.  I love the fact that the knit ball seemed animated, taking off on an adventure without me…

“There are two lasting gifts we can give our children.  One is roots–the other is wings,” a needlepoint in my friend’s bathroom reads.  And this sums up the great paradox of my existence, that I need both commitment and freedom.  Looking at the knit ball plopped on the other side of the road , I’ve been wondering, “Is it my ball-and-chain, or an anchor?”  Last night, I told a friend my ritual of knitting on the bench every day has comforted and sustained through the unexpected ordeal of moving four times this summer.  My wise friend replied, “It’s an anchor.”  And so it is…and as much as I’m a commitment-phobe, I am realizing how much stability a commitment provides one whether its a regular job, a marriage, or simply, an hour of daily knitting.

Today that hour was cut a tad short…Having just worked a 10 hour shift, I bungled the math and ended up leaving at 7:25 instead of 7:45.  Even so, I felt satiated with wonderful encounters with new people…A smiley blond couple who asked lots of questions.  B., an Asian American Special Ed professor, who was walking home from her first day of class at the university.  She said she’d been dragging, and thanked me for making her day.  I really liked her…I had an immediate sense of recognition, the spark of friendship potential.  She told me that my project reminded her of her meditation reading today about paying attention to your intuition, and letting what is burning within come out.  Flame imagery again.  I love it!

G. came by with Reggie who sniffed my friend’s dog on my clothes.  G. offered to post a wanted sign of the bench, alerting passersby of my need for a spool with a crank on it to wind the knit line up and down the hill.  We laughed about the fact that some of her friends don’t get it when she explains my daily knitting project as a daily discipline, a form of meditation, and a line to the sea.  It seems that people either get it or they don’t, and there is no way to explain it to them if they don’t.

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