She
in her magnificent robe takes up half the sky.
She is a protectress, still and silent.
Loving. Her arms, spread like
sturdy boughs, invite me to come and shelter there under her mantle of shade
and solace.
I
seek her comfort and her strength.
Still, I yearn to stand on my own and give form to something inside of me. How am I to make the thing called me? How am I to know who I am and clothe myself
with grace and elan?
In
his writings on faith, Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard says that the
secret is that everyone must sew it for himself, the costume that one must wear
in life. The coat in that old fairy tale, the thread of which is spun with tears
and bleached by tears, is sewn in tears, but the garment gives better
protection than iron and steel.
The
catch is, you have to sew it for yourself.
You
were given the material: a life, which is your fabric. Perhaps you wove that cloth yourself from threads
that were handed you, be it cotton, wool or silk. All cloth is not the same and what you start
with is always reflected in the end, but it is up to you to work it. Some cloth is suitable for making work
clothes, some for jackets that are lightweight and travel well. Some are best used for sportswear or tailored
suits or delicate underthings. Some can
hold a pleat while others find form in soft, billowing gathers that come to
life in evening gowns. Others are fit
for a queen’s mantle or the cloak of Mother Mary, The Protectress.
However
you decide to work your cloth, whether to go with or against the grain or to
cut along a pattern line or on a whim, ultimately, it is up to you. You choose the thing to do and make it. Nonetheless, every seamstress knows that a
good result does not always come to the one who labors for it. In life, there are no guarantees a thing will
turn out. But in the spiritual world, the
part we clothe with our inner work, anything is possible. There, the result
is always commensurate with our effort.
For
Kierkegaard, the coat made from our tears is completed by a marvelous leap, one
filled with vacillation, fear and dread.
The trick, he says, is not just to take the leap but to believe, on the
strength of the absurd, that the ground will appear and you will safely land,
which, for all the world, may seem as ordinary as day but for the one who leaps
there is no greater task of existence, requiring immense courage, trust and
devotion.
To
perceive the impossibility of a thing and to live joyfully and happily in the belief
that it will happen anyway is a costume I foolishly construct on my very best
days. Whether it will ever be finished, God
only knows.
