A Needle and Thread
Writers Prompt response by Pamela Jensen
Once a month or so the Queer and Affirming Writers Collective members are given a writers prompt and one week to complete the writing assignment. For October our prompt was: Write A like-able character walks into a room with a table that has needle and thread on it. The goal of the piece is to expose a character flaw of the character.
What follows is Pamela Jensen’s piece, which she wrote in response to our prompt.
Silence.
Utter silence.
Sarah felt calm and unnerved at the same time. I didn’t realize how loud the world was, she thought to herself, and I can’t believe I am doing this type of retreat.
In years past, Sarah would have been attending a raucous retreat with women gabbing, singing and laughing surrounded by the teachings about God and the beliefs supporting ‘his’ existence. But since deconstructing her evangelical beliefs she wasn’t able to blindly believe what she had been taught and had been, in turn, teaching others. So, although she mourned the loss of that community and those friendships, she was finding a peace beyond anything she had felt before in all her 20+ years deeply indoctrinated in evangelicalism.
This silent retreat at a Buddhist Temple was far outside the range of her comfort zone, but she knew it was something she needed to do.
As it is sounds, this was a silent retreat – with no speaking or music allowed. The intent of the quiet time was to help you hear and spend time with your inner voice and self which is often lost in the noise of the world.
Sarah’s face was a bit tired from smiling and her neck was beginning to ache at the nodding. She hadn’t even taken stock of how much body language took over when your words were held at bay. Oddly, she was enjoying the peace of the silence and everyone’s energy was overwhelmingly peaceful, especially the monks.
The tranquility exuded by the monks oaths of silence slowed her heart rate and made her feel as if she was floating along just above the ground’s surface. Each monk she passed nodded at her while wearing a soothing smile and each interaction covered her in a fuzzy blanket of adoration. The blankets whispered in her mind’s eye that she was whole, worthy and loved.
I haven’t felt this way in years, or perhaps not ever, Sarah mused, once again shocked by the calmness within.
Retreat participants were encouraged to take both solo time in their rooms, as well as walk the grounds. The grounds currently hosted gardens in full bloom with a river rolling briskly over the rocks near the edge of the property. They were also encouraged to wander inside the various rooms of the temple hosting either artwork to be admired, small art projects to complete or mats to enjoy seated meditation.
Once Sarah settled in her room for the weekend, she took a walk on the grounds and soaked in the rainbow of colorful flowers with their accompanying blend of aromatic beauty. She was struck by the realization she hadn’t noticed the blending of floral aromas in her past garden wanderings. Must be something about the silence that helps my nose work better, she giggled to herself.
After enjoying the gardens and rushing water she stepped back inside the retreat center intent on finding a mediation room. She passed a few rooms that were occupied and while it wasn’t verboten to share a room, Sarah wanted to respect the other attendees, and her own need, for silent, solo reflection.
The next room she came to was empty of attendees and overall, quite stark. It featured only a single large table draped with a piece of fabric, a sharp needle and a basket of various colored threads. She thought about walking on by, but her curiosity got the best of her, she entered to take a closer look.
Upon closer inspection, there were small markings on the fabric with a few strands of thread already woven through it. It appeared to be a communal art project of sorts, which she had been told might be in some of the rooms to be enjoyed during her silent retreat.
This looks like it will be fun, Sarah thought as she smiled to herself while she recalled the cross stitch projects she had done in her youth. She also thought about her grandmother and the plethora of pillowcases and flour towels she had sewn over the years, some of which still lived preciously in her hall closet as she was reluctant to open and use them fearing their loss would denote the end of her grandmother’s impact on her life.
She took a moment to look through the basket of thread, finally settling on a bright cherry red, one of her favorite colors. Sarah deftly threaded the needle and set to knotting the end of her thread so it would anchor on the backside of the fabric.
As she looked at the pattern on the fabric, she discerned it wasn’t a set pattern but allowed for some artistic interpretation. This led her to sew a smattering of red stars around the other colorful threads sewn by others. After ten stars or so she paused to admire her handiwork and felt a closeness to her grandmother she hadn’t felt in years. It was almost as if her grandmother was seated next to her and she could feel the warmth of her hand on her knee. Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes and she sat in stillness feeling the love radiating inside her heart.
After that moment of stillness, she decided to branch out into the more complicated parts of the pattern. This round she chose a deep eggplant purple, her most favorite color. As she unsuccessfully tried to thread the needle her frustration grew.
Her annoyance whispered, how can you thread it perfectly just moments ago and now you can’t do it at all?
Ugh, leave me alone, she thought as she tried again. After a few more attempts she was successful and nearly shouted out with joy at her win. But, she caught herself just in time. Whew, that would have been embarrassing!
Once threaded she began to follow the loose pattern in the fabric, but every stitch turned on her. She repeatedly had to back track and cut threads and start over.
Annoyance spoke louder this time. Oh my god! What is your freakin’ problem? it shouted inside her. Her hands began to tremble, which only made her task more difficult.
Sarah stopped for a brief moment, took a deep breath and started anew.
OK, this time, I got this, she cheered herself on.
She didn’t.
Each stitch went awry and every back track frustrated her more deeply.
God-dammit, I suck! I don’t know why I am even trying to do this, creativity is NOT my thing. I have known that for-ever and here it is again to show me how little I can do. I shouldn’t even be at this retreat, I am obviously not learning anything. What a fucking waste.
I keep trying to find healing and find wholeness and I keep failing. What is the point?
Sarah wanted to scream FUCK at the top of her lungs, but her good girl conditioning would not allow it. Instead she sat in silence frozen like ice floating in her inner pool of self-hatred and shame.
Stuck, again. Damn. Will it ever change?