Sowing the Silver Thread

Tiny motes of snow-glitter float and spiral in hesitant sunlight. Juncos and chickadees seem unfazed by the on-again-off-again dance between spring and winter. I, too, am less vexed than past transitions, a change I attribute to winter sowing. In the garage I set up a planting station to ready this year's fleet of seeds. A maternal instinct accompanies the planting process which is not surprising given the type of love that goes into the mere handling of seeds. The curious attentiveness, sensitivity and forward motion of energy all pours into bedding, soil and seed. In the tending, sewn is the hope of harvest, the ability to feed others, and the joy of engaging creation at its most basic level.

Barry Lopez writes about connecting and speaking with someone whose metaphor is different than yours. In an organic way, one is forced into something deeper when a shared context or jargon isn't present in which to swim. Yet after the work of being fully present in these conversations, a silver thread connecting all of creativity and creation begins to gleam in shared light. Dance, farming, films, art, crocheting, animal husbandry, music – they have rhythms. They have flow.

I think maybe as humans we are trying to connect at the “wrong” levels, meaning, we seem to only ease into our life-giving creation mode when we align or mesh with those who also use the same life metaphors we do. Activists meet activists. Writers meet and writers. Gamers meet gamers. We segregate every chance we get because it's easier. We have forgotten how to thread the cord of what we truly share into all aspects of our lives.

I'm trying to say something here.

Find the cord.