Friday, August 10, 2007


A friend wrote this. He lost his wife less than a year ago.

"If we are like tapestries,

The rip that happens at death requires time to reweave into a new border where the dangling ends are rewoven at the edge of our own new scenes.

I really wish that didn't happen sometimes, that those threads could simply be reattached where they were before.

But only silence answers that thought."

This touched me because I have come to see life as such a tapestry of interwoven threads touching each other and all the colors coming to be one beautiful pattern of pleasure. Sure there are bumps in the thread and some colors don't match and some are cut. Reweaving after the rip, I can see that, but like him, I would rather be able to reattach and continue the weave.

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