Yesterday, a friend and I shared a late afternoon cuppa. While we sipped a chai latte and a mocha, the metaphor of standing on the rug that we have woven arose during our conversation.
We realised all of our experiences are part of a very particular tapestry. We decided that when we can stand upon our own rug, it gives us strength to acknowledge all that we have experienced, and courage for the future. My friend asked me to write a poem and this is what arose from the weft of my words with the warp of her request.
The threads I didn’t know I’d woven
gleam beneath me
with the richness of the colours
I have chosen
from what’s come to me:
mistakes and takes
and what I’ve not yet taken,
a panoply of thicknesses and hues.
There is strength in those long warp threads.
there is beauty in the patterning,
there is gold amongst the weft yarn
that I hadn’t ever noticed.
Now I stand upon my own rug
with my shuttle fully loaded
thick with threads of what’s to greet me—
and I wait here
for the pattern I am weaving
to take me where
I can’t already see.