Breaking the thread

Last Sunday, I spun for the first time in over a week. Many of you who know me will know that this is an extraordinarily long time for me to go without spinning or crafting.  I'm not entirely certain why I didn't immerse myself in spinning when what I needed most during this time was the comfort it provides me. Instead, I avoided it.  It's hard for me to say now, but during those few days, spinning and knitting held very little meaning for me.

When you spin yarn, more often than not, you're aiming to achieve consistency throughout its length. A consistent single-ply yarn is the basis of a balanced plied yarn, and when you have a balanced yarn you're more likely to achieve a better result in your finished garment.

A lot of factors can affect the consistency of a handspun single: the fibre you're spinning, the wheel or spindle you're spinning on, how you have your wheel configured in terms of tension, drive, etc. When you're spinning, you're engaging your senses, training them to keep track of different sensory inputs: how much twist is going into the fibre, how much fibre you're making available to receive the twist, how fast the spun single is being drawn into the orifice.

Hand-spinning teaches you above all else to be present, to be in the now.

The problem was that I wasn't.

Slipping through my fingers

When you don't pay attention when spinning, one of the things that can go wrong is the fibre can be drawn in too quickly even before twist can enter it.  Without twist, it fails to gain structural integrity, individual fibers slip and slide past each other and eventually, it escapes through your fingers.

During that time, I wasn't present.  My mind was racing, pandering to every worry that filtered through, slowly building an extensive catalogue of what-if's.

Kierkegaard once said, "The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you'll never have," and this was certainly true for me.  I was reliving professional and personal disappointments and unrequited loves.  And once you start entertaining the notion that you've effectively doomed your future happiness by the choices you've made in the present, why would you even want to be here?

And so, sadness kept my away from spinning.  At least temporarily.  Perhaps I did not seek solace in it as I wanted to keep my craft untainted by this darkness. That perhaps by keeping it at arms length, I could preserve my refuge, and by extension, keep some wisp of hope of alive that would lead me back to safety, one day.

I'm still not sure if I'm completely present, but I think I'm getting there. I still find myself drifting in and out of dismal moods when disappointment overtakes.  But at least I am spinning again.  I am learning how to let the feeling return to my fingertips and get my hands moving.  I know that if I can just learn to feel the yarn come alive in my hands as I spin, it will be my tether to the now.  To the present.  

Day 7.