on the wall. across the "room" from where i sit at the table which is the Everything Table. this walnut dyed big Cloth of pieces. That is the looking cloth.
this one has been there for a couple months at least.
there is that Eye. The Eye of Place. What looks back at me as i look at this Earth here, as i looked at the Earth everywhere i have found myself living. And then…well, i guess shapes of color of movement of form of Maybe of Who knows made of the smallest scraps of cloth just fluttering, how it is, that all of the whatever of Place just flutters….you have to be still, day unto day to see And then wonder And then be ok with not knowing
it is a piece of very old, worn, linen…almost not there anymore and stitched with those flutterings, the eye, to a piece of harem cloth. it has no weight at all.
I need to keep it just like this. just this. no backing, no border, no nothing more. It's a Holding Cloth. The only thing about it that has any weight is the small form of a new seedling at the bottom that was added maybe a week ago?, but added and grounds it somehow even tho it cannot be grounded.
when i take it off the Looking Cloth and hold it in my hands, and look upon it, there is nothing more in my mind. All the mess of things of this world simply dissolves without effort…just is gone. I only have this thin cloth, the shapes and colors. That's it. Until i put it down. Two distinct and competely different "places". The place of the Cloth and the place of this world. That's all i can say about it, but i wish i could say more, but there isn't any more. Just this.
windthread 
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