The Feather curled around the drifts
And The Hanging Man swayed.
The Snake and Want coiled like lovers
And The World’s relief displayed.
Time is frozen in epoxy
And the weight of it bulges, strains.
“Ideas” burrow into the hearts of men
To this day; still causing great pains.
I made some little bags! Each one got better with each rendition. And even though every subsequent one was more complex than the last, the process became faster and faster.
I usually have no idea how the final design for a bag will turn out. I go to the craft store, pick out things that catch my eye, then organize them by theme or texture when I’m surrounded by epic music and rain sounds at home (which are actual YouTube playlists, believe it or not.)
Then, possessed by somebody who knows how to sew better than me, I thread a needle and begin. The fabric comes together in four layers and the thread is doubled for strength. The only weak part lies in the pull string, usually.
Fifteen minutes passes and the bag is turned right-side-out and I awake from my trance, baffled that something has come out of my absence besides my own consciousness.
Besides it being a time-suck if I invest in a lot of bags, it’s also therapeutic. I disappear for the time it takes for me to complete the bag. I think about nothing, not even the music or the audio book (if one is on.) I don’t even focus on the sewing. There’s no secret joy to be had… only an idle sort of peace.
I made these bags to maybe give to friends or to hold potpourri. But now I realize I don’t have as many friends as I have bags, and not enough potpourri to fill the extras… Maybe I should start on making clothing again? This Jay is without purpose yet again, it seems.