When, for as long as you remember you are the kind of person who has wondered about the God Thing, or, wondered about God, or wondered about god, a word we might as well accept as the one that is commonly used, or the translation…. when this is just how you are, your propensity…..and when over so many years of this in so many changing forms, you still sometimes feel yourself so much wanting to
pray.
so there's that.
and then something happens and you are flooded with knowing that Everything is "god".
morning night Wind Sun Moon Star mud dust worm wing wood stone grass tree color touch flower taste heat cold lizard toad dog cat water earth laughter tears germination rot blood bone orange Goat red black gray soft sharp kill heal open closed here there yes no dead living
it goes forever, the words that languages have for the BeautyUnBeauty that animates . The Spirit.
the All.
so what can be "prayer"? What can "communicate" with this ever forming understanding? That never ending human desire for exchange, this never ending desire to become One With? And just as Everything is God, every Way is also god. I find mine, you find yours, we find. we are. The All. All of it….one seamless dance
Gideon dies. in the days before this day, cloth that has been in basket to basket to table and off and back to basket to table so many times, cloth, that is nothing remarkable alone, thread wisps, things maybe to throw away, they constellate….they magnetize themselves to themselves on that table catching my attention. just in and of them selves. i watch.
and here, i lay my Gratitude to Jude Hill for opening the thing in me that could find cloth as kin. Thread as kin. Stitch as….well….prayer. She might not say it this way at all, but it's what it is for me.
This morning, at sunrise, Gideon is dead. The Great Heart, Gideon. The Grand and Elegant Being, Gideon. Dead. and i come in and stare at that cloth and see it there like the writing on the wall it was and is. i think……WHAT IS IT ALL??????
and i see that Mo has left a comment and i click and read and she says…"the snake of beads". I go out again to feed the rest because today, yesterday and tomorrow are One for them, as is alive and dead and i lift back the tarp that covers that half ton bale and there….staring me in the face is a young snake….on the top, still half covered by the tarp….it doesn't move, stares. As if to make sure i understand. i reach my hand to it…Ready…like with SnowBunny and push the tarp more and it dis~appears. i feed the herd and return to stitch stray threads down.
Travis and Everett came because Gideon is a big Goat. Because that grave we had dug in the winter had caved in from the rain. We swaddled him in the Green Tara Wall Cloth and buried him along the fence between the buck yards. Herd Sire. Gideon is gone and Gideon is not gone. Gideon is both.
i can't bring the image forward, because i still don't know how, but if you click on the Archives and go back to June 22, 2012…he is there. He enjoyed looking at birds.
windthread 
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