I am not very good at praying. If I pray, my words are short and to the point. Or should I paraphrase, I am very good at the 20 second wishing method, where you get in, complete the mission and sign off. When I want to keep people in my mind swaddled with love and light, I create. I knit or paint and keep my vigil for them through colours and texture. I imagine that all my thoughts for them weave through the layers of what I am doing, charging them with a magic not unlike the scabbard that was created for King Arthur's sword. I am not saying that scarves I knit protect the wearer from ever shedding blood, but hopefully when worn, their heart like their neck might softly warm.
At the moment my knitting is guiding me through a very sad family time where an ocean separates me from being with the people I would most like to be with and provide comfort for. I know they are within a cocoon at the moment and surrounded by all the love they need and instead, this time by knitting, I am bringing comfort to myself as I imagine the flowers that are falling from my needles floating across the water to them.
Sewing, knitting and painting must be the closest I ever get to a transcendental state. When I am involved, there is no hunger, no thirst, no need for bodily functions. I am completely whole. The minute I stop however, it is as though I am born to the world again, freezing, starving and busting. My most desperate self is in this moment as I am torn between the order of putting things into myself and letting things out.
Today being a quiet Sunday means that there will hopefully be time for this loss of self though creativity as the boys are occupied with birthday parties and watching the street car racing with Jonno. Summer shorts need to be made, particularly before they begin to protest about wearing clothes with little gnomes on them. And perhaps a new skirt for myself if there is time. And joining lots of knitted flowers together into bracelets and brooches and inner songs.