Yet we aspire. We spool our way out, unwinding, stretching to be, to become. We are connecting, intertwining into a picture, a line in a song, a stitch − no matter how frayed and repaired, we must be some part of some thing. We want to be anything except disconnected, hanging down, loose and lost. No, not lost, please − we’re afraid that one tug would break us, pull us free. We would lose our hold. We would be ungrounded with nothing to cling to − in the dark with no light to take us home.
Thread is wrapped strongly. It’s hard to break. When the warp and the weft are woven well, then the fabric won’t tear or unravel. It’s strong enough to wear its way through life. Threads weave our stories just right. Each is part, a memory of another’s picture.
All of the threads, all of the colors of life − what a rainbow we weave, giving each other strength like the warp and weft, like a sunrise filling a sky, like a flower decorating a fence.
Every thread in a piece needs the others.
People are threads in the tapestry of life.
−me strauss Letting me be