FABRIC

 

by Gerald F. Heyder

     It’s quite peculiar, yes, strange, if we consider how our existence is a combination of time, space, plus substance matter to constitute the fiber of who and what we are. We are all, to a certain extent, existentialists wanting to exist through our personal endeavors, knowing we are responsible for the individual choices we make. That is perhaps the primary motivating force, or reasoning, to map out our tenure we call life on this unique planet we call home.


We are seconds, minutes, and hours on the clock called time. We are days, weeks and months on the calendar that is the extension of our daily clock. Yes, it keeps ticking through our heartbeats, breaths, and culinary digestion to maintain and sustain our everyday existence. Our body functions must keep on going, lest we end up in the human junkyard known as cemeteries.


Of course it is a no-brainer, we need space to move about, to stretch our legs, so to speak. We cannot exist being stationary in a tube. We need movement, yes, to be ambulatory to achieve our purpose, whether ordained or not, to be the beings we are born into this world to be. So far time and space are the prerequisites necessary to facilitate our presence in the greater scheme of things in the expansive cosmos we know as the universe.


Now we come to the substance factor of physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual matter to constitute who and what we are to become. The fabric that comprises our hopes, dreams, aspirations, triumphs and failures that will ultimately be our scrapbook of life from birth certificate to obituary. We are all patterns, designs, woven intricately together, thread by thread, stitch by stitch, to form our distinctively unique existence called life. Our individual patterns can run the gamut from the simple mundane temporal design for necessary existence all the way up to an exquisitely articulated arabesque configuration beyond comprehension. Every minute of every day on the calendar, we weave thread by thread through stitch upon stitch our way of life to make us an articulation unique to all other articulations known as the human race.


Each time we dream, it is a thread destined to unite with all the other myriad threads comprising the quilt, banner, and Persian rug that we encapsulate ourselves within and tread upon. When we aspire through hope to achieve and accomplish, we attempt to weave into reality the pattern, design, and picture that is imprinted on the screen of our imagination, to be woven into the fabric of reality through whatever machination we are capable of performing.


Our triumphs and failures are perhaps woven correctly, or incorrectly, depending on our ability to be a master weaver or a bungling apprentice who weaves too loosely as opposed to weaving a tight, form-fitting fabric critical to success. We can climb a mountain or fall from it due to our ineptitude. Each day is the loom on which we thread and stitch, hitch by hitch, and itch by itch until we no longer need to scratch the tickle away.


Yes, the fabric of our life can be silk and satin, or it can be canvas and burlap. We can weave a beautiful portrait, or we can weave a psychedelic nightmare depending on which entity dances its way into our heart, mind and soul. We can weave and believe our projection on the screen of life will be fulfilling and rewarding, or we can bungle the job into a fiasco and debacle if we are an inept weaver.


We are all roads on the same map, but some are straightaway thoroughfares while others are a detour onto a dead end street. Each individual fabric can be green for go, or red for stop. Perhaps amber stresses the caution between the two.


May you all have a sharp needle and strong thread to hitch and stitch your way to a beautiful pattern for the world to see!

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