July 16, 2010
Image by rayewillow.
To a seamstress, the art of weaving paper tapestries with words is an addiction; once the eye of the needle has been threaded; once the pen has been filled with ink, there is no stopping the flow of words until all ink has been transformed into characters on paper and opened doors to new dimensions and worlds that only just became.
My inner seamstress of stories and tales has been sewing words onto papers for almost half a year; meticulously and thirsting for more — for a tale does not exist until it can be read. Adventures have unfolded in her lap, as the tapestry has grown increasingly ornate. And eventually, the time she had longed for appeared — the day when she was to admire her story as a whole; when the tapestry was to be hung and flaws about to be corrected.
The tapestry with its glimmering words and whispering thread was a magnificent sight, and she felt her heart pound with a creator’s pride. Stroking the smooth surface, allowing her hands to caress her beloved characters, her fingers however caught hold of a loose thread; a mistake that did not belong.
Determined, she pulled the thread that should not be and removed it, only to find it entangled three other threads. She pulled those too, only to find that the tapestry of her tale fell to pieces before her eyes. In a cloud of dust the words fell off the pages and the tapestry lost its glossy sheen. All of a sudden, the tale and its tens of thousands of words were no more. And the seamstress disappeared — disappointed — into oblivion; unable to sleep nor eat, knowing her tale had been tousled beyond recognition.
A few of the threads, the ideas and words, were still sparkling as she held the stumps up to the light; but most of her creation was fouled and had to be brushed away. With only a few crooked threads in her lap, my inner seamstress is now absent-mindedly staring out the windows of my mind, seeking inspiration to conjure her glossy threads anew and begin to embroider a new tapestry, reminiscent albeit better than the old her strife for perfection tousled and lost.