(I thought of this Musing after learning today is National Quilting Day. First posted last year and inspired @ the time of Nashville's Flood, it seems more appropriate now than ever. I hope you take the time to read it and share it. - Dawn)
Not
knowing the magnitude of the coming rains the day of Nashville’s 2010
May flood, a friend and I went on a field trip of sorts. (Field trips
aren’t just for school kids.)
She had driven to our house in the country for lunch and I suggested we
go to a
nearby quilt show.
I grew up with grandmothers who sewed but one in particular who
I remember periodically quilting. She suspended her quilts from a frame in the
middle of the living room floor. I recall the magic and safety of sitting
under one of those quilts as it hung suspended like the starry heavens overhead
as she stitched above me.
At the show, my friend and I oohed and ahhed struck not only
by the beautiful fabrics and patterns but the intricate stitching that held
each quilt together. Threads visible
upon a closer look spiraled and curled with extravagance. Not being bold and
colorful, these stitches were easy to miss unless one stopped to really see and
be with each quilt.
I walked the aisles created by hanging quilts in the exhibit
hall aware these works of art and heart would in two weekends be replaced
by guns, yes guns, as the building we were in would be house a gun show.
I
quietly walked and wondered, contemplating the symbols of
quilts and guns. Both, I realized, are
connected through love. I thought of the
millions of quilts stitched by the caring hands of women over time
desiring to protect loved ones from the cold and the guns held in the
hands of men desiring also to protect loved ones from perceived harm. I
walked and pondered the metaphor of
patterns. Our personal patterns sewn
together make up a life and when combined create the larger patterns of
community, culture and society.
One of the scheduled events of the day was a quilt turning. Neither my friend nor I had seen a turning so
we decided to watch. Decades old quilts neatly
stacked on an antique bed were held up one at a time by two women
as a third woman described the origins and pattern of the quilt shown. The quilt was then turned down at the foot
of the bed as another was held for viewing.
Four or five quilts into the turning the potential high
winds and rain were announced. Being nearly two hours east of Nashville, we didn’t yet have rain but we
parted. I took my friend home then worked in the yard and considered returning
to the show before finally turning on the tv.
The first image I recall is etched on many minds I suspect
for there floating by a Nashville
interstate was a portable school building with cars and trucks bumper to bumper
in rushing water.
I sat in shock and disbelief watching the city I live in and
love inundated with rain. I sat listening
to the commentator yet in my head I heard these words that were not mine. I heard,
“We
are bearing witness to the turning of the quilt of time.”
I didn’t know where this came from nor what it really meant but I knew I had been given a truth.
Three years have passed since I began contemplating patterns
and heard the above statement. In that time, I’ve been a Watcher, one of the many today
similar to the women who stood on either side of the bed holding up quilts of
personal and societal patterns for those who will to see including myself.
As with any crisis no matter the size, opportunities abound for
the disrupting of entrenched patterns and the rising/piecing together of new
patterns. In the flood crisis, Nashvillians
were exemplary in this regard. People reached across the divides of zip codes,
color, gender preference and religion. Our one-ness was amazing and our
one-ness was felt as patterns related to competition, control, detachment and
isolation were replaced by compassion and connection.
Since Nashville’s
flood, there have continued to be crises especially of the environmental
type. From Japan’s tsunami, flooding
all along the Mississippi and super storms in New England, to tornadoes destroying homes and
killing many North, East, South and West of Middle TN and even wiping out a rural
town. Nature has continued to bring
challenges.
Does Nature know we've this pattern of easily forgetting we are more alike than
different? Does Nature know we need to
be reminded of the pattern of love we hold within? In crisis we remember patterns that are ever
present in the heart yet have been forgotten over time and stay buried midst
our busy lives.
Politically
on the other hand, things could not seem more divisive. Muslims,
immigrants, women, organic farms,
wolves, the Arctic, Mother Earth and just about everything related to
Nature and
democracy seem to be under attack primarily by systems run by men (and
women who act like men) with monetary influence and entrenched
power.
Those enmeshed in the patterns of the patriarchy try to maintain the hold of the patterns of
competition, control and dominance. Most
of us have participated in this pattern's conveniences and benefits. These patterns though have also contributed
to toxins, chemicals, cancers and stresses unimagined by prior
generations. These patterns have
contributed to the exploitation and rape of Mother Earth, women and children,
the exploitation of the poor, the people and land of Africa
and many Asian countries.
Ironically those at home at least on the attack would say
they are under attack. They live in fear
of their guns being taken, their children wanting to live with someone of the
same sex or have an abortion and their money being taken. Their attitude is “I made it so I deserve it
all” and “If any one comes to take what’s mine I will attack.” They live in fear of communism so much so
that it’s nearly impossible to have a dialogue about taking care of the poor or
the environment without being called a communist.
As I reflect on the words I heard in May 2010, “
We are
bearing witness to the turning of the quilt of time” I now see these struggles as
symptoms of the turning of the quilt of time.
We
have before us the quilt of these Turning
Times. Let's thank Mother Earth for being the exhibit hall that holds
the display of our many patterns and ask her forgiveness. I ask
forgiveness for my unconsciousness and ignoring. Let's honor the male
souls who
came to Earth and took on the karma of the wounded masculine, especially
men in power married to
the patriarchy who have caused such damage and pain. Let's honor women
who have held patterns of fear and apprehension causing us to not act
and take risks or when we do the
risks are measured.
Let's lay to rest at the foot of Time's bed the quilt of these dying
feminine and masculine patterns within us and between us.
Then
let us sit down around a frame like my grandmother had and begin the
piecing of new patterns in peace, welcoming the quilt of living and
loving from patterns of greater awareness, compassion,
understanding and feeling, the quilt where patterns are sewn with
threads of love stitched
side by side.
Just as I felt the security of sitting under my grandmother’s
quilt like it was the sky above me, we live under the starry heavens quilted
with constellations, the moon and sun. Like the field trip that started this story, life on earth is a
field trip from the stars as we experience the field of love
in physical form.
We are the quilters. We each hold the threads in this the turning of the Quilt of Time.
ree
days later the Conductor's arms had shifted, extended. They waved
mid-air urging orchestra members green and growing, to not delay, to
play as bluebells and bleeding hearts, daffodils and hyacinth broke
ground.
