Complex Weaves
"Weaving Wild Magics" is a phrase which has haunted me for? ? ? Maybe my entire life. I donae know how or when the phrase entered my life, nor the context, nor the meaning. It just pops into my head and hangs there like a cruel joke overheard at a bus stop.
It's ba-a-a-ack. . .
Weaving analogies have been well-used in my long, tedious psychotherapy. No doubt my intense sewing background makes them more effective for me than the average post-industrialist. My understanding of threads and fabric weaves started beneath that 1950's quilting frame, gathering up lint, scraps and threads dropped from the needles flashing over my head. There in the middle 50's, that quilting frame was already out-of-date and frowned upon by the industrial mainstream. "Store-bought" was the Modern Way. As I grew in both skill and body, it can be argued that my sewing skills were more freaky than my child prostitute skills. Perhaps even more so here in the 21st century where sexually explicit scenes are acceptable on Prime Time TV and sewing skills are far and away more rare than a virgin bride.
But even in the absence of pragmatic weaving knowledge, the weaving analogies seem to be well understood when I use them in my psychobabble. "Weaving Wild Magics" doesnae make sense, even to me. During this go-round, and several previous go-rounds, the term seems to carry graphic imagery from the poorly developed "Gossamer" section of my photo archive.
Sorting. . .
The manic episode seems to be holding steady on its calming trend. Stepping small and praying big.
Time to clean up the roof construction mess. Life willing, that should be the last major remodel mess the honey barn has to endure. May all its future construction mess be the clean, gentle saw dust of building bee boxes.
Replies
“Weaving wild magics” is a term I am well familiar with, one that for me reminds me of happier moments (& must say this..., Stevie Nicks).
I heard that term more times than I can recall all my life but the first was from my maternal grandmother who was only Catholic because she married one but carries more of the ‘old world’ mysticism about her than saintly devotion. My Navajo Crow Sister and my Ute Crow brother had often told me those words and I’ve had them echo in my dreams since I can remember. Even my Tlingit mom (mother in law) has used that term.
There were never explanations to it’s meaning but instinctual understanding of it. For me it has always been instinctively understood as gathering the wild energies around me and within me, the chaotic pieces that are too often I either denied or attempted to fix. To weave the wild magic meant to not try to force them but assimilate them, accept them as a vital part of myself and once gathered let them fall into the weave as they willed, where they were drawn to join the pattern of my life and most of all not deny the necessity of the wild side, the mystical and unusual magic that lies within everyone.
Mostly of all this post Arfie, reminds me of a prophetic dream I had as a child, a dream that also my sister shared with me since I was about 6 years old. In the dream we were always told to weave 7 strands of hair 13 times. When I was about 13, my grandmother came to visit and I told her of the dream. She explained that the weaving in that way was making the old world ‘Witch’s knot’, a braid that protected you from the negative forces & those who would harm you. It was my Crow Sister who taught me the braid at 7 but she left it to my grandmother to explain.
Most of my life I worn a witch’s knot. It is only in the past year that I have not but your post has reminded me that some traditions should be kept alive and not forsaken, not necessarily because they possess magical powers but because they are part of who your identity, something that has defined you all your life as the uniquely mystical person you are.
Not sure if any of this is of any help to you, but I thank you for posting this as part of my own path to healing is remembering and returning to who I truly am, not lingering in the state that my PTSD has altered me into.
Hugs & love, Arfie!
It is most helpful, Vltava. Thank you.
A weirding of my damaged memory is that my life bibliography is a mess. Public writing is dangerous for me because I commit plagiarism without a single awareness, much less felony intent attached. Not a good defense in a court of law but a harsh reality in my day-to-day life. I have been exposed to allot of pagan theology in my wandering life and even aggressively evangelized by various pagan groups. Your explanation suggests I look there for the source of the term. Maybe. . . Quite allot of that exposure is still lost in the PTSD trauma pot. That particular answer might be more work than it is worth.
Glad it may help. I grew up in a extremely religiously diverse world so it’s made it much easier for me to contextualize some of those mysteries.
Weaving is a very symbolic and important part of shamanism and paganism so it’s a good source for sorting out “weaving wild magic” as any.
Good luck, Arfie
Hugs
I was raised in what I call, "The Schism of the Isms." Everything from Atheism to paganism to whateverism. Ismic divides get extra volatile inside the kiddie whorehouses. I need extra psych backup to approach any of the religious discussions/research. For sure I'm too fragile to do the research today.
Now you have me wondering if another repressed memory is bubbling to the surface. Is it progress that I can consider that possibility without sliding in to psychic meltdown? The good news is that the last few memories have been beneficial and worth digging through the toxic crap of the trauma mindslides. What I have come to call, "Mining for gems." Turns out even child prostitutes have good things in their childhoods.
This go-round kinda feels like a forward progression, though. A resolution, perhaps? For sure, this particular bit isn't written yet. The sorting is strictly personal. Wouldn't surprise me much to discover there is a shaman or some such on my shoulder. I quite solidly believe in spiritual guidance, even when my anthrophobia prohibits me from joining the Ismic debates.
Happy the Honey Barn has been completed!...construction guy do leave a 'mess'..horrid clean up history with my home.
Thank you for your topic, hoping the weaving will bring you to a good place!
And the wonderful description of "Weaving" by Vitava. Last night I watched a movie about quilting...the bonding of woman, and there too was a little girl sitting under the table...from the 40's-60's. It had Maya Angelo, and she recited some poetry. "How to Make An American Quilt"...Netflix.
Yea, that ring of maternal legs makes quite the play pen. In the 50's, children still outnumbered the geezers. I don't believe I was the only baby under that quilting frame. These are child memories with no way to confirm or deny, but I imagine it was quite the lint box under there, with quick, firm reactions to lint box bullying.
I have no way to confirm or deny my personal memories, but there is plenty of cultural evidence to support the possibility.