Unravelling and reweaving seems to describe what we do throughout most of our lives. Parker Palmer captures this in his poem titled “November 22“:
… the world unravels always,
and it must be rewoven time and time again.
You must keep collecting threads—threads of meaning,
threads of hope, threads of purpose, energy and will—
along with all the knowledge, skill that every weaver needs.
You must keep on weaving—stopping sometimes only
to repair your broken loom—weave a cloak of warmth
and light against the dark and cold, a cloak in which
to wrap whoever comes to you in need—the world
with all its suffering, those near at hand, yourself.
And, if you are lucky, you will find along the way
the thread with which you can reweave your own
tattered life, the thread that more than any other
laces us with warmth and light, making both the
weaver and the weaving true—the red thread
they call Love, the thread you hold, then
hand along, saying to another, “You.”
“The poem… is about the way my world began to unravel on that date—and about the origins of my commitment to contribute whatever I can to the constant reweaving our world requires.
I’m ever-grateful for the countless people who collect the threads, maintain the loom, and work without ceasing to restore the tattered fabric of our common life—devoting themselves to creating that ‘more perfect Union’…”