Paradisaea n:o 16 // She Walks Like a Queen warp
Warp: 100 % tencel, hand dyed by Paradisaea
Weft: 100 % merino wool, hand dyed by Knitlob's Lair
Woven with a Maltese Twill variation (a fancy twill)
fear the fire
simply become it…
R. H. Sin
mothers become courageous
because they have no other choice.
Becoming a mother makes a woman vulnerable. You’re split into two - or three or even more parts, and it makes you lose some of your control over life. Elizabeth Stone once pointed out that making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
When you give birth to a child, a new someone enters your life. Someone who is loved beyond anything you might have known before - and who is at the same time puzzlingly unpredictable. Life becomes unpredictable. You have your heart in the small hands of someone else and it might be that both love and sorrow show your their full face only then. There’s a lot of joy. And there might be a lot of fear too. How does one keep her kids safe?
You cannot get trough motherhood unscathed. It’s a roller coaster ride, highs and lows and speed that makes your head dizzy. Mothers may become more sensitive to life than ever before, sensing the joys and the threats of life better than ever. It might be that only when you are a mother you see how many sharp edges life actually has, and how easy it is to hurt yourself on them. You’re somehow… exposed to life trough your children.
It can be hard to bear, the simultaneous weigh of love and responsibility. And yet sometimes the pressure brings forth a miracle: mothers start to expand, they grow into something bigger than themselves, when they’re split into two they do not diminish but grow stronger.
Mothers often become courageous
because it’s the only choice.
I’m thinking about tiger mothers. Lionesses keeping watch while their cubs play in the grass. Mothers that have grown themselves claws to protect their young ones, mothers who - to their own astonishment - find an age-old fire burning inside themselves, the strength of the hundreds of generations of fiery passionate mothers before them. Mothers who become strong because they cannot help it; mothers who become brave because the lives of their children depend on it.
The scary and glorious thing about motherhood is that it doesn’t leave you much choice. It makes life somewhat raw, bringing out the bare essentials of existence. In the end only a few things really matter. The choices we have to make because of this may be hard, and then again there’s something very liberating in it.
Aira asked me to weave a wrap that would be a picture of her, based on all the conversations we had had. How did I see her? I knew right away that I wanted the weft to be a bright, burning orange, but I didn’t quite know why. When the yarn arrived I started weaving and waited for an explanation. What kind of a picture would embody the impressions I have of her?
At the end the picture came quite suddenly.
I simply saw - or imagined - a woman riding a horse over open plains, galloping as fast as possible. Something in her posture told me that she wasn’t just riding for fun. Her hair was a whirl of wind behind her, her head high, her eyes fixed on something. She’s on a mission, I thought. If you’ve seen The Lord of The Rings you might remember the ride of Arwen - it was just about like that.
The Huntress, I thought. The brave one.
Sometimes mothers need to become huntresses - those who sharpen their arrows to keep the evils of the world at bay. Huntresses who hunt down the predators circulating the camp, tiger mothers whose roars make your blood run cold. Lionesses watching their cubs, ready to spring to action. Sometimes mothers become brave just because they have to - they need to fight so many things. Fears. Hurry. Sorrows. Money problems. Bad relationships. Bad influences. The evils of the world.
Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had
and dealing with fears you never knew existed,
writes Linda Wooten.
Most of us might not feel very brave most of the time. The truest courage, however, is not the lack of fear, but the choice to act despite the fear.
Aira’s words and thoughts spoke to me about a woman like this - a huntress who will fight when she has to, a woman the colour of fire, the shape of the wind, someone who knows what means to live with the fear of loosing someone and something and still chooses to fight for life. Her words spoke to me of the special beauty that happens when vulnerability is united with the choice to be strong, and both still survive.
So was born The Huntress;
someone who chooses to embrace the fire
and not give into the fear.