Other, Shadow & Weaver

I am afraid, said the Swiss girl, of becoming the Stranger, the Other.

The Other. I am Other said Shadow. Outsider.

I'm afraid of always being the Other, she said.

Why? said Shadow.

It's fear I suppose, it's difficult to articulate. It's a sense of feeling apart, separate from people.

I know it, Shadow said, I'm like that. I live on the edge. I engage. I am vulnerable, open, honest maintaining a sense of detachment.

How is it this sense of outside? she said.

It's objective, he said.

Shadow felt her vision escape toward the weaver at her loom creating her meditation.

I am the shuttle sliding across threads, Weaver said. I am smooth aged wood holding two bobbins. One is golden silk thread, the other purple.

As I slide threads bobbins spin at the speed of light releasing, ah all the releasing, letting go of myself trailing into and between thin black origins - the essence where I rest.

Weaver cautions Shadow with her fingers - purple and golden desires lie tight. She pulls her emptiness toward me, hands and feet.

I feel connected, said Weaver.

I am bound to Others before me.

I wait for Others to join me.

I am part of the whole. Part of the grand design inside her dream.

I pass through. I am not dreaming. I am here and now.

Chase Money

There was a man in a poor village.

Everyday he went into the mountains searching for gold.

Everyone said he was crazy.

After forty years he found gold, returned to the village, exchanged the gold for cash, bought a rope, tied the money to one end and the other around his waist.

He ran through the village dragging money behind him.

Everyone said he was crazy.

“What are you doing?” they yelled.

“For forty years I’ve been chasing money and now money is chasing me.”

Subject To Change

North Lao Weaver