I have been thinking very literally about the fabric of society, and what it means to be a part of that. Being a thread in a piece of fabric, after all, is not a very glamorous endeavor. It requires only to wrap yourself around many other threads, who are in most ways the same as you, and stay there. 

But doing that is not always easy. It requires consistency and focus. As a thread it’s so easy to fly away, to unravel, to pull. Those of us who want to be an integral part of the fabric and hold it together know that while it may look simple, it is not. It takes putting the whole over the self, and lovingly holding those around you, day in and day out. 

Many of us have trouble doing this, and we’ll tie ourselves in knots trying to avoid it. Those knots certainly leave a blemish, and sometimes a weak spot, but they don’t destroy the whole.

I have always admired those people who are the stable threads. It is not easy work, and it is often thankless. No one looks at a piece of fabric and says, “Wow, that thread is doing such a good job being a thread just like all of the others.” You must work very hard to allow yourself to blend in, but it is crucial work. All of the threads who came before you are counting on you to carry on their work, and the ones who come after you need you to do yours or they have nothing to anchor them. 

There are of course other ways to be in the fabric of life. Some people, those whose names we remember, become other implements. Some of these are helpful and others are hurtful. 

There are those who wish for society to be something different than it is, for us to pursue something other than our true purpose to love and support one another. And they can deform to become scissors and seam rippers. They go about their work undoing the work of others, leaving scars and holes in the pattern for others to repair. These tools have always been a risk to our work, and they do as much damage as they can with the lives they have. The karma they receive is that because they are no longer threads, they can’t be woven back in, and while we remember them, their legacy is to be cast aside, or buried under the blanket that we will inevitably continue to work on. 

When those have completed their work of undoing there are other brave threads who shapeshift into needles, buttons, and clasps. They have the distinct honor of being held up for the work they do, mending holes, turning wounds into scars. The places they mend are never quite the same. You can see the stitches more clearly there. But in their difference they can add beauty and they are forever a reminder of the work it takes to repair devastation. The work of mending is a sacrifice, because even though these people stand out and are often beautiful, they are no longer part of the everyday work of weaving society together, thread by thread. It’s brave but painful to step away from those you were meant to care for and to dedicate yourself to something larger.

I have been thinking about this as I try to make sense of the world I wake up to every day, knowing that people before me faced moments when the fabric began to rip, and they didn’t know what to do either. Should they join in the destruction, or continue the work of living and supporting their loved ones, or transform and try to repair the damage? And maybe it’s just a metaphor I’ve stretched too far, but thinking about it in this way has helped me make some sense of what our different roles mean, and why each of us and the work we choose to do each day, big or small, is so important. 

It also reminds me that the whole of our history is a story of destruction and repair. There are holes we have patched up and some still waiting to be mended. We are imperfect threads, and we don’t always behave as we should. And tragedy is never more than a ripped seam away. But we will continue to live and create, because we can’t do anything else. To be in the world and give love and consistency, to offer structure and support when things begin to come undone is valuable, worthwhile, and necessary. 

Today, I’m overwhelmed and inspired by that thought.