United by threads

I have everything I was told I should want. And yet I know despair. I have not lived with war raging outside my door. And yet I know how a heart can break into a million pieces. I know the sound of those infinite pieces crashing on a glistening clean kitchen floor. All of it happening on average Tuesday.

Your despair may be different from mine and yet I know. I know where the ache resides, where it nags and nags, and yet I know this is where I can return to myself.

We share our despair with one another and meanwhile, as Mary Oliver says, the world goes on. Meanwhile the world continues to show up for us. What do we notice? I noticed the spider webs. At first, the nearly invisible lines reminded me of the nearly invisible lies. The spider, already pretty, told lies to look pretty and thus birthed her own despair. This spidery girl didn’t know who her victim was- she was killing herself. “Here is what I have to tell you,” said the spider: “I am all around you. Everywhere you turn, I am there. You can continue to walk on by not noticing, but I will still be there, even when you pay no attention. I love you.”

Many months later, the spiders returned with a new message, and I finally knew: it all depends on my invisible threads. If I can sit in solitude and weave my own magnificent creation. If I can recognize and embrace this most intricate home that I am building inside. If I can see that no one can stop me. I may know peace. And if I can sit here in that space, my invisible threads can reach out to you. We can be united in our threads.

I have heard about the women in Congo and other war-torn countries. The women who can imagine peace despite the violence they’ve endured. In a web of despair, joy and gratitude, we are intertwined. Across the sea, we hold one another's hands.