Finding Calm
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Sam was a daredevil
Sam was a daredevil kind of kid. He walked at 9 months before his brain was really wired to navigate obstacles. To our horror he took to running everywhere soon after. His one-year portrait wasn’t actually taken until he was one and a half because I had to postpone it so many times. He seemed to always acquire a new bruise right about the time we were supposed to get his picture taken.
I wanted to be a constant
I tried my hardest to be stability for him. In this whirlwind life, I figured the least I could do was become a constant and known entity for him. Like gravity, I wanted to be there—always. I wanted to witness and listen and guard. I wanted to pick him up when he fell and deliver a kiss that made it okay. Of course, I wasn’t as consistent as I wanted to be. I failed at my endeavor many times.
He reached for my hand
But once, when we were hiking down to McClure’s Beach, him leading the way with his Sesame Street backpack and his Giants cap, half running, half walking, never looking back to see if I was still with him, he came to a steep step in the trail. I watched him stop and bend over to assess it. I expected him to turn around and maneuver the step on his hands and knees like he did when he was still crawling. Instead, he surprised me by simply reaching his hand up. It met mine and closed. He hadn’t looked to make sure I was there. We didn’t exchange words. I squeezed the tiny hand of this daredevil kid who never seemed to need me, and helped him take the large step. He arrived at the bottom, still upright, still not looking back. And then let go.
I admire people like him
He’s grown to be one of those kinds of people who just trusts that things work out. He isn’t easily shaken or thrown off course. I’ve always admired people like him. These are the folks who can get so wrapped up in their books that they block out everything and don’t even hear people calling their name. Or they are the meditators who can sit and listen to their own breathing without giving into the urge to open their eyes to see who just walked into the yoga studio.
How do they get that way?
I wonder how people get to that state of being. Did they have mothers who were always there when they reached their hand up for help going down a steep step? Did they have fathers who could listen without losing interest to the movie plot and the story line and all of the details that took longer than the actual movie to describe? Are they conveniently in denial? Are they so accepting of emotions that they can allow fear to wash over them without retreating into a dark corner?
Where’s my hand?
I’ve always wanted to be a centered person. Someone who seemed grounded and certain and calm. But, honestly, my brain just doesn’t work in that focused way. It doesn’t zero in. Instead, it zooms out. It scans and picks and puzzles and collects. In this churning world, I’d love to have a focal point. I’d love to have a hand or a person or a something that centers and grounds. Something that would stop the rat race and the traffic and the shopping and the mess of everything. I’d love to have a quiet place to rest. Something that could hold my tiny hand and say, “I’m here.”
Some of us have found it. Some of us are still searching. And sadly, I recognize that some of us may never find this sense of calm.
I’ve found it
But I have an admission. I have something very important to report. It’s weird and awkward and unexpected. It’s a surprise for me and probably will be for you too. In this new life of mine, on the farm, with the fiber and the animals, I have a something. I’ve found the constant. It’s simple. So simple that you’d think it’s not an actual thing. In a world that goes too fast and doesn’t seem to stop and wait, I’ve found that one strand of fiber that dangles from my spinning wheel is everything I need.
When I sit at night at my wheel and pick up that twisted strand of fiber, the one that faithfully hangs from the orifice, the one that invites me in, invites me to sit and be and watch as the all the individual threads glide into one spun single, I feel the focal point become crisp. I sense the world dropping away. I feel guided down steep steps.
I pinch a bit of fiber from my lap and feed it into the wheel. The flyer pulls gently and twists the wool into a perfect thread. I marvel at my hands as my fingers pull and release in a rhythmic dance. I imagine that this is what a spider must feel like when that gossamer thread slides effortlessly from its abdomen. My feet treadle without thinking, just as my heart slows with the magic moment.
I’m not the only one
I’m not the only one who has found spinning to be the essential cure for the undertow that threatens to take us out to sea. I asked a group of experienced hand spinners about why they spin. I wanted to know if they experienced the same meditative calm that I did. Jenny, who is 80 said, “I spin because it centers me. If I’ve had a long day and I sit at my wheel for even 15 minutes, I feel quiet and relaxed, like all is well.” Carla who is much younger said, “When I spin I can forget about all of my other obligations and just breath and watch the fiber turn into yarn. It’s very zen.” And Gladys said, “When I spin I feel like I’m talking to my grandmother and her mother and all the way back. Like I have a connection that the thread allows that I can’t get any other way.”
It comes down to this
One strand, one movement. One step, one hand. I have found a constant. When I spin, the world falls away and that exacting moment informs everything.
Hi, I’m Lisa!
I’m a fiber farmer and land steward committed to making beautiful things and making a beautiful life. I raise animals for their fiber, create things you can buy, and write and tell stories about the discoveries I make along the way.
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Our animals work year round to grow the most exquisite fibers because we’re the only commercial source of guanaco fiber in the US. Spinners, knitters, and natural fiber wearers, we can’t wait for you to touch the softness.
That is so well written it calms me just reading it!
I love your writing and sharing of your carving out new life journeys!
You make the most impossible seem obtainable!
My less anxious heart thanks you!
Love you
Wendy
Thanks Wendy! Maybe I need to send you some more handspun so you can keep knitting through it all. I love you too.
As a spinner also, I am thankful that when our Creator made us He also made the things that He knew would center and calm us and prepare us for quiet time with Him. As a counselor of strong willed teenage boys at a boys ranch I am also thankful for the ability to share the fiber skills that are so fulfilling and calming. Spending time with the producers (in my case,sheep) is also a blessing for both this teacher and the students. It was also a blessing for me a few years ago to attend the workshop that introduced me to you. I really enjoy your communications and envy your location although being on a secluded Ranch with a bunch of teenage boys is a fun way to spend my post-retirement years. My own three children have children of their own and are very busy – they need a quiet spot to center also!! God bless you, your family and your producers of fibers!
Janey–I’m so thrilled that your boys get to experience fiber with you!
Blessings to you, the boys, and the producers!
Lisa
I feel the same spinning! Either at my wheel or one of my spindles. My favorite is outside, early morning (before 7), listening to the new day start!
Christine–you and your spindling!!! What an inspiration. I’m finally diving in with a Turkish spindle this weekend as a friend of mine has agreed to tutor me.
Spinning before 7 is probably an altered state of consciousness–like journaling before you get out of bed!! I love that image of you!
Thank you, Lisa…yours was a voice of calm that was very welcome today. I felt sad that I was not the kind of mother you described, sad that I had not had that mother; sad that my mother did not have that mother. But it is comforting to know that there are some who can attain that. It was a beautiful story about your son and trust. Thank you.
And I am so happy that you have built such a beautiful world for yourself, your family, and all of the fortunate people who are in your life now. You are an inspiration.
Thank you for sharing this Judith. I hear you, I really do.
I hope the comfort can help, even just a little.
All my best,
Lisa
Wow! It sounds so calming and beautiful. I have yet to find that calming force for myself. Some days I’m not sure I will ever find it; then some days, I think it may just be within reach! I continue to search for that force both within and without. Some day maybe….
I hear you Diane. Keep looking.
All the best,
Lisa
I loved listening to this while I was spinning! I spin exclusively on spindles, as I just started my spinning journey a few months ago. I know very well the feeling you described. Have you tried spinning on spindles at all? When I’m feeling tired I like to spin while standing, stretching, walking, and even doing yoga poses to help wake my body up.
Thank you Alexa! I decided to read my essays for the very reason you are describing. I imagine people like you doing handwork while listening and it is so delightful. I’m happy to hear that the listening is satisfying!
I’m just starting on a Turkish spindle and can’t quite get a “calming” rhythm yet–but I know it will click soon if I practice enough. I will keep you posted.
All the best,
Lisa
I love your post. Spinning has always been a calming event for me.
Thank you so much Judi!!! I can’t wait to see your fleeces!
Lisa, I appreciate the experience of calm you’ve found spinning thread. I’ve found it in the past on horseback or simply in the presence of horses. And I’ve found it again and again communing with my Creator and soaking in comfort from scripture especially psalm 73 verse 26 and Philippians 4 verses 6 and 7. I also love the idea of a retreat surrounded by the calm of your sheep and look forward to hearing more in future!
Thank you Deborah–stay tuned for more!
I have found my people! I started spinning with a drop spindle when I was in high school in the 70’s. I had bought a bag of fleece and a pair of cards and just started working through that Golden Fleece. I was transported back then and was slightly embarrassed because it wasn’t really cool as a teenager. But even back then I knew there was more to it as I found that by spinning a thread that was continuous would lead to weaving that thread into a rug of many colors. I would always leave a little gap in my design for my spirit to flow out at the end of the rug so that it would remain a thread into the next one and on and on….
So, so beautiful–leaving the thread to pick up as you go! I was a knitter in college and people always looked at me like I was out of some Little House on the Prairie episode! So funny how times change.
Thank you Erika. I’m so happy you found a fiber life!