Weaving Peace

The trifecta of spring grief was intense this year. It started with his birthday, moved through Easter, and was capped off by Mother’s Day. I keep reminding myself that this is all still new, but I was surprised by the size of the wave.  May, he always came home in May. My heart remembers, yearns for him, it is only our fourth May without him.

Every project seems too big to start, where do you begin, you look, but cannot focus, so we wandered that first Saturday in May. Sometimes just getting out of the house is the best place to start, even if you feel listless and hollow. We found ourselves at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival and were amazed to see how many people had gathered at the fairgrounds.  There was indeed a festive air to the grounds, fences and trees decorated with all sorts of yarn and felt decorations.  So many booths and barns of artisans, and colorful yarns spilled out with great abundance everywhere you looked. Gorgeous hand-dyed wools, you could feel your spirits lift just being around all that creativity and vibrant color.

We wandered and stopped at nearly every booth, laughed at the sound of sheep bleating, it is impossible not to smile when you hear them, one starts and before you know it there is a chorus of sheep noises. How sad we are so disconnected from our fellow creatures of this earth, they bring a sweetness with their presence.

We came to one outdoor booth with hand woven cloth, gorgeous colors, shawls and Ruanas that swayed in the light breeze. I reached out to a Ruana in blues and greens, with threads of deep purple running through the weave. The Master-Weaver, Margaret, helped me put it on. Have you ever put something on and knew you couldn’t take it off, that at some deep level it was already yours? That is how I felt, one of the younger apprentice’s helped fold it properly and showed me how to pin it with a Celtic brooch, or more properly, a penannular brooch. Being small, sometimes I feel swallowed up in what would appear heavy or large coverings, but this ruanna felt like the gentlest hug, I could feel kindness woven into every strand. Margaret mentioned that she keeps her’s on her bunk when they travel and how nice they are to wrap up in on a plane. I thought of the Camino, and long plane flights. And I thought of that boy, how he would have marveled at the craftsmanship, the colors, the gentle eyes of the weaver, and the longer it rested on my shoulders, the more I felt Justin’s presence. I looked at Doug, I had not even looked at the price tag, I didn’t want to know. He smiled and nodded. Margaret helped me pick out my own penannular, there were many to choose from, all were hand-crafted, I chose the Trinity Knot, also called the Heart Knot. She helped me fold it again, and showed me how to work the penannular brooch, I wasn’t about to take it off, the day was cool and I felt so connected for a moment to all that is good in the world. In my head I thought of the tiny amount that was left after all of Justin’s affairs had been settled, and I knew what to do. This woven covering would be my Mother’s Day gift from him, a last little gift. I told Margaret that I would write to her to tell her how much this meant to me, but that I couldn’t speak of it yet, she took my hands and said that she loved what she did, and what I felt was the love she puts into her weaving. Tears fell, for it was true, it is like being wrapped in a hug of gentleness and love, the cloth even smells of sunshine and all things good.

We spent hours at the festival and I was stopped so frequently by others wanting to know where I had gotten my beautiful Ruana. I was more than happy to share with them and send them to Greentree Weaving. On our way out, we stopped for another quick moment with Margaret as I wanted a picture of us together. You who know me well, know I avoid being on that side of the camera like the plague, but this was different. Margaret said my Ruana would last me at least 15 years, 20 years if I let it air dry and not put it in the dryer. What a comfort to know I will have my good friend to wrap myself in for many, many years.

I have been lost in thought for the past month, thinking of the hours that went into weaving such a magnificent cloth. Finding out that they call this pattern their Blue Peacock, all the blues that were Justin’s favorite colors. The rich Christian symbolism found in peacocks and their feathers. Finding peacock feathers on the table at Justin’s best friend’s wedding this weekend, I must confess to coming home with all the feathers that were on our table.

I have been reflecting deeply on peace, finding it, creating it, living in peace. I know that the weaver’s of this world do more to create real peace than all those that only speak of peace. They create beauty, spin yarns made of love, and then share it with the world. Truly blanketing souls in peace. The weavers, spinners, artisans of all crafts, anywhere there is beauty coaxed out of the earth’s goods, there is peace.  The world would drive us to produce, but true peace and tranquility comes from creating.

My heart still aches for my boy, but I am learning those things that bring peace. Peace is not the absence of heartache or tears, peace is not the absence of suffering or longing, peace is that quiet place, that place of blues and greens that is fed by beauty and nourished in silence.