I love the moon and the stars, but I am afraid to be out alone in the dark. My natural tendency is to be on alert for potential dangers, but that’s hard to manage when I can’t see anything.
I love my gift of clarity—catching a glimpse of the potential of how things might unfold in the days or years ahead. Sight, both internal and external, is my most trusted sense. But the sight I’ve been using is hindered in dark.
I am walking in spiritual darkness. I don’t feel lost or abandoned as happens in the dark night of the soul but I can’t see anything I recognize. I have a strong sense of the divine presence and a luscious dose of gratitude, but I can’t see where I am going. Even the next step feels overwhelming.
I’m very busy. Traveling often. Some say that my to-do list is too long and wide, and that I’d see more clearly if I dropped some things in order to open up more spaciousness. That doesn’t ring true to me.
Here is what I see—an image. That is all I have now.
I am sitting on the ground in front of a vertical loom. I’m weaving a rug that is two-thirds of the way complete. I can’t see the pattern on the rug. I don’t know what colors or types of skeins are being used in the weaving.
Behind the rug, hidden from my view, Spirit is very active with an unseen ritual. While I don’t know what is happening on the other side of my weaving, I am nonetheless personally involved in the prayer dance.
One of the skeins of thread in the weaving comes from this unseen dance between Spirit and me.
I am to keep weaving, trusting that what is emerging won’t be an ugly, tangled mess.
My mind is very unsatisfied with this image and this process. And yet here I stay, adding one row and then another.