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Weaving Work I In contemplation I remember this often Such a strange dream. ___*___ Where am I? ‘A weaving room at work.’ My Muse and I drift in the Gray Lands' expanse Three Mind States beckon Each with Trails to tread Subtly entwined Each a facet of Consciousness. Naming the trio Some philosophies divine them With each, uniquely, it’s own realm... Living, Imagining, and Dreaming. Borders soft, like blending hues All roused to varying degrees Effecting threads at different moments In the warp and weft of Time. More, or less… At, and in, different times In, and at different junctures All dependent on Space, Place, and of course… Time Framed to serve Purpose Birthed by consciousness’s curiosity. ___*___ They turned at a small gasp The Weaver of Time had missed a few stitches Awakening her from drowsing drifting, to wide awake. ‘Oh dear, I must begin again’, she murmured Undo all the drowsy mistakes I made.’ Quickly through Time She leaped, and jumping around Back to forth, to back again Made quick work, righting the wrongs Correcting the Eight to right again… So she might return, pure, to Nine. ___*___ Yet within the tapestry Confusion reigned. The past dimmed Refused to shine as before Accusations hurling at the weaver Accusing her of selfishness For withholding all the earned rhymes. Yet what could they do Against the threads' wanderings New arrivals disrupting their schemes Some bringing the Sun Changing shades, scattering broken pieces across the land. And, as old events straightened Some evil intents that before, had risen to rule... Finding themselves now defeated... Sent back, deposited on assorted spools to heal While a grateful Peace settled across common fields. ___*___ ‘Don’t fret’..., said Time Weaver Listening to their cries. ‘In time you’ll come again For the future bears your names… Remember, all threads made, have meaning plain To help complete this grand game.’ My Muse looked at me ‘Of course, you know with Humankind Consciousness threads through gender Man and Wombed-Man Within the Grand Eight of Things,’ She smiled softly... ‘Quite the Trail then you’ve chosen.’ Laughing, the Time Weaver looked on Her ancient eyes beaming... ‘Just don’t forget Remember to laugh…’ She winked… ‘The rest is easy’. Turning to the tapestry She laid down her shuttle Then, gazing at her dream guests Soft sigh escaping, she continued... ‘When this work ends And this loom rests… All will marvel at the masterpiece This, the finest, yes this, the best. Hang it will, in the King’s own halls A testament, blessing Man…’ She looked back at the still to be finished work. ‘Yes, from wombed man to newborn Acting, creating... Meeting partners, birthing anew All contributing to this final beauty A sight few human eyes will cease wondering at. Though remember... Tapestry’s are not just for human eyes… All Life plays a part. Seeing true, threads know not Weaver’s true intent They simply play their part as the shuttle slams down. As such then, they are laid, to final rest To only feel, as played by minds, hearts, and souls, singing their parts.’ ___*___ ‘Look’, she continued ‘See here, even now, how this story has risen to show Time's gentle touch. A work of balance, beauty, so purely strong A tribute to Balance’s plans.’ ‘But, what of us…?’ The now stored threads overhearing Did suddenly howl... ‘How can we even begin to see Much less find... our place?’ ‘Well, think well on this…’, said Time Weaver Looking at them in their storage places. ‘You are now... the past Yet awaiting a brighter future, yet soon to be.’ Her brows tightened as she added… ‘Of course, we have to do a little more work’. And so, she concluded for the day Dimming the lights for rest As fewer stars twinkled in the night’s embrace. ____*___ Only Night Dreamers pondered the absence, the missing While the rest… slumbered. Threads conspiring in the darkness Bitter plans of treachery No longer worrying about the light. ‘Wait until we show up’… one quietly muttered 'We'll shine all right'.
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