I am not sure that I understand how I became so fortunate to be able to attend this camp. It was held in western Washington in a quiet wooded spot so beautiful I was moved to tears just looking outside.

And then there was the weaving part.

The food was fabulous and healthy. No cleaning to speak of, although I did leave my hair unwashed a day or two. No shopping. No driving. Just weaving. Talking about weaving with other weavers. Preparing for weaving. Serious mulling about weaving. You get the idea.

The result is that the noise in your head clears (a little) The rhythm of weaving slowly emerges. The projects grow along with ideas for projects.

I’m not going to sell you the idea that weaving is like a metaphor for life. In this case it was life. I forget how easy it can be to disassociate yourself from the path that brings peace of mind because we are so locked into the path of work and maintenance of the things we own. It happens to me and mine more than we want.

It’s a precious and personal thing and I won’t bore you with the intimate details. I hope when you most need it you find a place to make something beloved to you a metaphor for life and you dive in head first and don’t need to come up for air. And then just stay there and soak it in till it oozes out of your pores.

Happy hunting.

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