bloodteethandflame

A life in threes

Tag: not just a dream it’s a metaphor

Month for Loki, Fourteenth: Knot.

In the summer of 2012, I had one of the first of a series of strange vivid dreams  that involved Loki:

In this particular dream, I found myself searching through  a building of many rooms, and while I didn’t know what or who I was looking for, I knew I was looking for something…or someone.

Most of the rooms were spacious but empty – white walls, sparsely furnished, lit by buzzing fluorescent ceiling panels.  Like an abandoned office building, which I sensed may or may not be underground.

And then I was surprised to come upon what appeared to be a middle-aged man with dark auburn hair in one of the rooms.  As I’d mentioned, though most of the rooms were nothing more that white empty walls, the room this man was in was full of  brightly colored yarn.   Skeins of various colors and in various states of unravel lay scattered all over the floor.  While a few seemed no more than tangled handfuls of yarn, others were neatly wound and stacked in piles of three or four bundles, sorted by color.

Meanwhile the biggest jumble of knots lay closest to the man’s right foot.  I could also see that he was barefoot…. and he wasn’t exactly sitting in the chair.

This man was sprawled in an elaborately carved wooden chair large enough to easily be mistaken for some sort of throne.  I say sprawled because though I came upon him sitting upon this odd throne from behind and at somewhat of an angle, I immediately realized that this man was quite gangly; one of his legs casually dangled over one of the arm rests, and I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d  miraculously found a way to fold the length of the rest of his body comfortably within the confines of the seat.  

I don’t think he noticed me at first, as his head was bent in concentration upon his hands and the tangled mess of colored yarn in his lap.

However, when he did finally look up at me

He grinned….and casually asked me

if I knew

who he was.

Loki.

And Loki appeared to be knitting.  

But not with needles, mind you; He seemed to be knitting with His fingers.

(from my notebook, 17 July 2012)

~~~

But I learned something interesting today.

It occurs to me that Loki may not have been knitting.

He may have been nålbinding (“needle-binding”), an ancient technique which may pre-date knitting and crocheting by 1500 years, where a single length of thread or yarn is passed through loops by use of a single needle, and the resulting fabric is sturdily connected by interlocking these loops of yarn or thread with one another.  Nålebinding is also called ‘knotless netting.’

I came across this information today – though honestly I was researching something else that had nothing at all to do with Norse clothing -but a reference to socks caught my eye and I found my way to Hurstwic.org:

“However, Norse socks were not knitted (which apparently was unknown to the Norse). Instead, they were made using an ancient technique called nálbinding (needle-binding). Using a single large, thick needle, it was a method of knotting the yarn. Although time consuming, this approach resulted in a nearly indestructible garment. If the thread were to break or wear out, the garment would still be intact, since the thread was everywhere knotted to neighboring threads. Mittens and caps were also made using this technique. The sketch to the left shows the steps involved in making an article of clothing using the nálbinding technique. Note that the fabric grows in a spiral pattern. Once the spiral is large enough, it is knotted back on itself to create the shape of the finished article.”

 

(Photos: l-r: spiral nal-binding_sketch; Sock found in York; from Hurstwic.org.)

~~~

How does this personally relate to me in regards to Loki?

Loki has been referring me to knots and knotwork for many years now, and as it is with His method, I hadn’t any idea as to why He was always referring to such things, either literally or metaphorically.  But I’m starting to connect some things about knots and knotwork today.

But, barring that, it does give His references to ‘creating sockpuppets’ a whole new meaning, eh?

 

Fear of drowning.

I had a strange dream last night.

Upon awakening, I realized that my brain is definitely trying to work something out.

 

In the dream, I was walking through my old neighborhood, on my way to visit a dear childhood friend of mine, Katherine.  It had been raining all day, and it was dusk by the time that I had started out for her home.  Oddly enough, I wasn’t afraid of the dark (as I usually am, since the night *is* dark and full of terrors in New England this time of year), and I was quite confident that I would reach her home before long.

Another prevalent detail was that I was wearing a pair of brand-new white sneakers, but for some reason, I didn’t want them to get dirty.  (This is another odd thing, because I am usually much more worried about reaching my destination than I am about worrying over whether or not my shoes are going to still be ‘clean’ by the time I get there.)  But, such as it was, the street was full of puddles, and try as I might to avoid stepping in the puddles, the persistent rain throughout the day had flooded the street, and the roadside was saturated with mud.   So I walked, with my head down, my feet sloshing into each unavoidable puddle, watching the dark muddy water turn my sneakers grey, and I realized that I was surprisingly becoming irritable with that sodden sponginess of my wet socks and shoes.

But I reminded myself that while I couldn’t avoid walking, and I couldn’t avoid getting wet, I very much wanted to visit my friend, so I convinced myself that this temporary discomfort was at least worth that joy in some way.

Then I noticed that what was once mere puddles on the sidewalk and the street had turned into wide, low ruts, swollen with water.  I now felt water sloshing against my ankles, and even my calves, soaking through my jeans as I walked.  These shoes are definitely ruined, I thought grouchily, and I might need a change of clothes when I get there. 

Then, while I was moving through a particularly wide rut in the middle of an empty street, I felt the ground turn spongy and completely give way.  I felt myself sliding downward, and I realized that I must have fallen into a sinkhole in the street.   I felt the shock of the icy, fetid water soaking into my clothes.

As I slid further down, I began immediately to panic:  I realized that I couldn’t feel the bottom of the hole, and I was treading water.

Soon, I will be gulping water, my panicked brain screamed, and I felt the water go over my head.

Suddenly, the view of the street-lamps above me were a blur of hazy brown-grey light about 12″ above me, and I tried desperately not to inhale water.

I pushed myself upward,  and I gasped for help.

My voice sounded small and choked to my own ears, and the water churned as I thrashed about.

In the brief moments that I could break the surface, I saw that I was right outside Katherine’s house.

I howled for help as loudly as I could, but I kept sinking back beneath the water.

I have a desperate fear of drowning, by the way, and I was beginning to despair that I would not be heard.

The force of my anger at my failure at being heard and my fear of drowning seemed to be driving me however, to keep trying.  I was so angry that it seemed to give me the energy to keep treading water, and my fear of drowning, of dying, kept me working to get myself above the surface of the water, however briefly, to call for help.

I saw the brief hazy light of Katherine’s porch-light for a split second moment during each of my attempts to surface, and that sight made me resent my predicament.    Oh, how I felt such an odd hatred for the serene glow of that porch light, the welcoming glimmer that bled around the window-shades!

How could she not hear me?

And then I realized that I had been treading water in just one spot.

In my panic, I hadn’t thought to try to find the edges of the sink-hole.  I hadn’t thought to open my arms or search for anything in the water at all.

I had been just… flailing in place.

So I resolved to stop struggling, and I relaxed, and breathed.

I let myself float/roll a few feet to the left.

And there was the edge.   And there was a handhold.

And I was suddenly able to climb out… quite easily.

 

EASILY.

 

Oh, I felt grateful.

But I felt more ashamed and embarrassed.

And it wasn’t just because I was wet, dirty, and soaked with the sweat of my effort and fear.

 

It suddenly occurred to me that the solution to my situation was not only available to me, but ridiculously close, and yet I had allowed myself to panic.

Did I trust myself to find the solution?

No.

I hadn’t even tried.

I immediately began calling for help.

I had believed that I was in danger…but I was not.   Not really.

 

If that was not a lesson, I don’t know what is.

~~~~

Upon awakening, while I lay there in bed, feeling my pulse slacken, several things occurred to me.

Though I had felt stupid, this was not a stupid dream.

I mean, really.

 

How often have I called out to Him, and He has been silent?

How often have I felt Him just out of reach

            always with that calm and infinitely patient look on His face….

                              …and I have resented Him for His silence, for His inaction?

 

Is He hearing me?   

Why isn’t He helping me?

 

But it  is just as it is with this dream, once I have calmed myself, and looked around, I’ve realized that I’ve the tools, the means, and sometimes, the answer to my own questions.

Sometimes, the solution has been within my grasp all along; sometimes I’m already in possession of everything required to solve the problem…and He is just waiting for me to realize it.

Sometimes the situation isn’t exactly dire…but it becomes exacerbated in my mind, and things suddenly seem insurmountable due to my impatience, my fear, my anger, or my rush to negativity.

(Oh, how I have cursed the light…)

I confess that I’ve got several emotional blind spots..and I’ve developed a pessimism, or perhaps, a learned helplessless about some of them.

Despite that, He’s got a word for each of those blind spots:

Stop.

Relax.

Open.

Think.

 

And I remember:

Whenever I have truly been in danger

(… could have been killed)

He has been there

(…the house could have burned down…)

He has heard

(…had been trying to hurt me…)

…and He has offered me guidance, and He has offered me help.

 

(Even though I have been known to stubbornly refuse to listen to and/or accept it.)

 

~~~~~

But one thing is certain:  I do have a fear of drowning.

 

Sometimes, I think that I am drowning…

 

But then it turns out that I’m just struggling

I’m just flailing in place

…and I am making a lot of noise about it.

~~~

Maybe this is why the rune Laguz keeps coming up.