Soul-Combing

What items would you pack for your trip to a deserted island? Or, consider the modern-day equivalent - what do you squirrel away when lock-down looms?

Peripherals fall away. Essence is distilled.

We are revealed by what we reach for when limitations apply.

Our list of whittled wants.

My list:

#1. Scissors (Fiskars)

Fiskars scissors - utilitarian, a versatile tool. In dire circumstances a weapon to be wielded. Undeniably impotent against Death's raging scythe or the brutal razor-slash of Change. Regardless, I would choose my Fiskars, the absolute Cat's Whiskers, to help me shape the fallout of these ravaging forces.

Hermit-mode activated. Bear-like hibernation beyond the regular season of mourning. Dark cave, soothingly devoid of sensory intrusions. Safe. Predictable. Controlled.

Crack of light. Outside worlds creeps in.

Wispy-thin layers of a paperbark flap lonely on the grass. Twisted twig, smooth, flat stone. Nature has always been there. Why only now is it calling?

Journey beyond mere beachcombing - searching for treasures strewn on the shore. Gather those treasures - the paperbark, stick and stone. Amass a mess of hooks, tangled wool, needles, fabric swatches and Fiskars. Soul-Combers ride upon these items into their depths.

Winding fibres, weaving over and under and over again I reflect on flexibility. Was I the dry, brittle, unyielding one who held firm and then snapped? Or did I manage to embody softness, bending to accommodate the unexpected blocks and twists in my story?

Soul-Combing turns the lens onto the creator. How do I work with the materials? Which words apply - tug, yank, force or easing, coaxing, playfulness and flow? After the snip of the mustard-yellow crochet-thread a glance at the finished strip reveals it as a barometer of my inner being. Is it an even consistent pattern or a puckered piece of panic?

Red + Yellow = Orange. Rule. Fact. Foot stamping, pouting and bellowing do not alter. I can bargain, plead and wish that things were different. Nothing changes. I can cry about the unfairness of this colour rule and bemoan the limitations it creates. Or I can accept that Red and Yellow do indeed create Orange and rally my curiosity to explore this. I may find a richness of variety lies waiting as tones, shades and reflected light. An exponential array of possibilities rather than the limitations initially perceived.

How different things can appear when viewed in a different way.

Into my mind's eye springs the confused face of a student struggling with this concept. Is it a Duck? Is it a Rabbit? Those old visual tricks and illusions - we can be so certain of what we see. Vehemently we defend our view. We see what is right. How can anyone possibly see it as something different ....until that moment when suddenly we do see it differently.

Soul-Combing taps emotions. A magnetic pull towards something under the leaf-litter - a shape poking out, a hint of colour a smell or movement creates interest and intrigue. The spark of an idea, from Mind or Muse, causes excitement and wonder at the possibilities. Hesitancy and reluctance as the string-bound fabric is gingerly dipped into the stew of plant-dye. The wait and reveal. Pleasure or Displeasure. We experience these feelings repeatedly, daily. The joy of things that please us. Frustration and Disappointment when the colours muddy to create murkiness. Mustering the resilience to persist, a Soul-Comber breathes deeply and scoops up the hope that helps them continue the journey.

With the passion of Soul-Combing there is, at times, a pleasing end-product - a useful basket or an attractive sculpture. More often, there is simply the chance to explore, reflect, ponder and learn. A mindful, immersive experience. Fiskars-armed, we fierce Soul-Combers meld and mend, knot and knit out crooked kantha-stitched path through life's fallout as we journey towards our selves.