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.

Tiger Voice

Greetings,

Tell me about your future
all laid out in perfect reconciliations 
of existence
overflowing with play, discoveries, exploring your labyrinth
rapacious fluidity,
exercising complexity science
where imagination tells the truth
these days before Chinese New Year
and Mr. Murakami sighs,

"Memory is like fiction, or else it's fiction 
that is like memory. Human existence in absurd activities. 
Right and wrong drop out of the picture. Memory takes over and fiction is born.
It is a perpetual motion machine, tottering through the world,
trailing an unbroken thread over the ground."

It is now the Year of the Tiger
believing their strength, solitary nature, nocturnal way,
running to survive
swimming in deep water
leading you into deep forests
when a shadow spirit named The Other
whispers
"It's time to go, it's time to go."

Metta.