Sounds of Silence

I'm still voiceless, but I've reached the annoyance stage of my cold.  I'm frustrated because I can't go to yoga or meditation classes and irritated that every outing seems to bring on a coughing fit.  I'm tired of sleeping on the couch.  (Morris is tired of this, too.  Most dogs comfort their people in times of illness; however, Morris chooses to grumble and growl whenever my coughing spells disturb his beauty rest during the night.)  Colds tend to appear and disappear in the same fashion, so my grumpiness is a sign that I'm getting better.

Being parked on the couch is not all bad.  I can meditate and I'm well enough to knit and organize.  I've spent the past while thinking about some of the goods I'll have for sale at True Knit 6 next month.  I haven't participated in a sale for a very long time, so I'm unsure of my market, but I've decided to make things which I'd be happy keeping or giving to others.  The knitting has been a meditation of its own, because I'm mindful of my materials, my designs and my work, as I apply "best effort" to each piece.  Since I can't talk, I have to rely on my own judgement on whether a piece is working, rather than turning to others for their opinions.  (That will come later.)

Knitting alone in silence, no radio, certainly no television, no distractions other than the occasional mandatory Morris woofings and visits from Mickey, is soothing.  Nothing interrupts my focus on the yarn sliding through my fingers, the steady rhythm of stitches moving from needle to needle, the shaping of whatever garment is currently in the making. I'm reminded of why I do this, of the comfort to be found in fibre twisted on spindles, in the simplicity of yarn on sticks.

Namaste.

A Sneak Peek