I’ve begun crocheting again.
I decided that I needed to be doing something more tactile with my hands, instead of cerebral with my mind. The internet is a great place – plenty of spots to learn new things and to discover things about yourself that you never knew quite how to express.
But I’ve been online steadily for the past few months and I needed something to break the monotony.
So I went back to what I know how to do – create something beautiful out of not much more than bound and wound together threads. I love how I can get in a rhythm and spend hours weaving and crafting something one of a kind from thin air. I love the hours of labor, the time spent in thought or steadily feeding my mind information through my podcasts as my hands and fingers stay busy with the project that is unwittingly being formed in my lap.
But my hands/arms? Don’t always agree to the hectic pace my mind/soul sets. I’ve spent the past three days in deep meditation over my latest project and now my hands, are no good for anything, though my mind has a hundred and one new crochet patterns that I want to try. I am this limitless soul in a limited body, doing the best I can to be true to both.
I don’t think how ‘terrible’ things could get in the future. Instead I limit my projects to what I think I may be able to handle and fill my time with things that won’t leave my hands like spaghetti. When I am having a particularly bad day I think what it would be like when She and I finally meet. I wonder if She would kiss my arms and make them better or rub my palm-backs to bring them back to life. I live on the edge of this intention, because the alternative is too menacing for this life to be lived greatly.
And I intend to live it great.