Moving in waves above sandbanks and mountain chains, the weaver was first a dream dreamt by the matter of the universe. From the core of the earth she was connected with the world of concrete. Living many lives spinning her own and others dreams and weaving them into patterns she cares for. Where do they begin and where do they end? Entangled in the worlds of dreams and the world of concrete she breaks the granite loom in search for patterns of change.
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They walked slowly down the corridor streets, eyes looking ahead for the edge of the land. Dying embers on charred wood still smoking, cracking between curled fingers. Both the city and night, quiet. Two figures black against a growing ocean. A long breath, ribs, shoulders, chest, rising and falling across…
Hello. Thank you for a nice week with the sisters. I learned a lot about my poetic self. But I still have a lot to explore inside the Academy. I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy new Year.