I got a letter in the mail. Handwritten words on paper. Paper that had traveled thousands of miles, winging its way across an ocean, and a continent or two. Bringing me the thoughts and feelings, the mind matter and heart matter, of a dear friend. Time and distance are funny things. As are sentence fragments. Time and space though, they are collapsible. And expandable. As are sentence fragments, come to think of it. Einstein intuits that time is merely a way create order and structure, healthy boundaries, for matter. Time exists so that everything does not happen at once. The sort of limitations that allow for creativity and manifestation. But even then, a photon exists only in the now. At the speed of light, time collapses again.
I thought to write a letter back tonight, but instead I read about anterior lines of myo-fascial stress conduction and sagittal flexion. Perhaps I'll write that letter tomorrow. There will be much in it of congratulations, and also the good kind of newsy gossip. It will be written much as I write this: back to a warm fire, dark night outside the window, cats curled, and keys underneath my fingertips. Only the keys will be those of a much older keyboard, one from the 40's, and my keystrokes will place ink on paper rather than pixels on a screen.
I love them both: word thoughts placed on to a space betwixt and between, located in the always already now and accessible from anywhere – this little blog space of ours in the great sea of inter-netted twining; and the word thoughts placed on tactile space, tangible, traveling through air and across land, from one hand to another. Winter is upon us here in the north after a welcome, if ominous, extended warm spell of rainy fall. With the snow and the dark and the stars comes a sense of calm and peace. A sense of settling. Time is no different, really; yet I somehow feel I have time to write this when I haven't for weeks. I'm drawn, as ever, powerfully to my loom, to my studio, to the heart fires and hearth fires of kindred souls. Limitations feel constructive, supportive, and liberating rather than confining. And somehow, in the dark and the cold, it all feels possible again.