409. The Fabric Of Life

I recently dreamed that two older women suddenly materialized in front of me.  Their appearance was as odd as their entrance, and I knew they were some sort of mystical beings.  One said to the other “we have to kill him (me) this time.”  Then a third woman appeared who argued for sparing me.  It wasn’t hard to figure out these were the mythical Fates, three sisters who determine what happens in each of our lives.

Unable to decide what to do, they turned to their mother.  An older women then appeared (she wore very thick glasses, perhaps to help her see deeply into things).  She introduced herself in a cheery voice as “Elaina, the Twilling…”  Unfortunately, I can’t remember the word that came after “twilling,” but it started with “tw” also and seemed to describe her occupation.  They then wandered off, caught up in an intense discussion of whether I should live or die.

I don’t like the implications of this dream – it suggests my future is currently in doubt.  Dreams have long been regarded as a source of hidden knowledge; traditionally they were seen as messages from God, but today those messages are seen as arising from one’s own unconscious.  Either way, though, what can I do?  My future lies (symbolically, at least) with the Fates and their mother; only time will tell what they decide.

While we’ve all heard of the three fates, I, at least, had never heard of their mother.  And what does the word “twilling” mean?  Turns out it’s from an Old English word that means weaving cloth with parallel ridges (like corduroy).

This reference to weaving provokes more thought – do our lives, our destinies, often run parallel to one another’s?  Could it mean, perhaps, that the fabric of life, woven with the threads of everyone’s destiny, consists of ridges that we all must overcome?

Whether that’s what my dream alluded to or not, that would seem to describe the texture of fate’s fabric – ridged with challenges that are traversed only to encounter another and then another.  I can’t help but think this metaphor applies to many lives right now – the fate of thousands of Nebraskans and Iowans has run into a morass of ridges presented by the recent flooding.  Like a herd of buffalo driven over a cliff by our Native American predecessors, people’s lives have run in parallel – one beside another – into an abyss of suffering and loss.

And yet there the lives of many more people converged – the outpouring of assistance to flood victims has been phenomenal.  My wife Lori and I set up a donation bowl at the recent Danielle Anderson concert, and when we took the money to the Methodist church in St. Edward, the ladies working there teared up a little while describing how the church sanctuary had recently been filled to the ceiling with donated food, clothing and cleaning supplies.  Most items were gone by then, but these ladies will be there to give and receive until every need is met.  The same thing is going on in community after community where family, friends, neighbors and total strangers have all converged to help those in need.

Sooner or later the Fates cut the thread of everyone’s life and the tapestry twilled from that thread abruptly ends.  But so long as our willingness to help one another remains strong – a quality rural communities seem destined to possess – this area’s fabric of life will endure no matter what the Fates decide our lot should be.

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