Many years ago, just over two in fact,a strange phenomena occurred in
the constellation of Life. A sun imploded, and a new black hole appeared
in the fabric of society.

Many of the inhabitants of the constellation of Life peered at the edges
of this black hole, and the braver of those, stepped inside to see if
they could heal the rent in this fine fabric.

Cautiously, and timidly, more and more appeared in this black hole,
weaving and binding their threads together, sharing their colours and
fabrics, patterns and ideas, until this great rent in society appeared
to be a whole new universe, within the constellation.

Although at first, it appeared strange and foreign to those who wove,
soon a natural rhythm evolved, and the beauty of this new fabric within
a fabric, became obvious to the weavers.

The drumbeat of the day to day life, of this world within worlds, was
one of joy, and harmony, and even when there was dischord, it was soon
healed with the steady rhythm of love that had developed in this new
fabric.

Many weavers came to this world, to look and marvel at the beauty within
this fabric. The rent that had once been so gaping and frightening to
the outsiders, had now become as natural as their world before, and
appealed to many to visit.

Some of these master craftsmen, left this new world, within a world, to
share their craft and skills they had learned, and took them out into
the universe.

Peace reigned for a long time in this timeless place, of future and
past, and the inhabitants were content. Word had spread far and wide and
many came to settle into this plaxe of light and joy.

One day, not so long ago, a dark cloud appeared on the horizon of this
once black hole. The shadow that fell across this place of beauty was at
first, mild, and only the elders seemed to be aware of it.

The weavers kept weaving their threads, the fabric of their joy still
vast and so beautiful, it was hard for others to describe. mutterings
around the communal campfires, had become more common, and the ekders
seemed to be distracted and watchful.

Some less than friendly visitors had found their way to this place of
beauty, and the head weavers had noticed a stain appear on the edges of
the fabric.

Not wanting to create concern amongst the gentle inhabitants, they tried
to remove the stains, but to no avail.

An outcry of pain arose from the inhabitants, and the elders tried
desparately to stop the tears that were appearing in the fabric of their
new world.

Great sections of this fabric, had been torn, and the stain that had
been so mild and unnoticable, now ugly and obvious to all.

Fear and apprehension washed over the inhabitants, and the weavers,
hesitated in their work. No thread, no fabric, no twine or cable could
pull the edges together.

Some of the oldest and finest weavers of this land had disappeared, and
were nowhere to be found. A new regime had invaded this land, and these
gentle folk were concerned.

Regulations, and curfews appeared written in a vague and foreign
language, on the dark corridors of this fine world. To weave with
dignity and grace was no longer allowed, and to question where the
finest weavers had gone was to be punishable with long periods bound to
a chair, far, far away from the community, and all weaving priveleges
removed.

Some of the more garrulous, and blatantly defiant of the weavers defied
their bindings, and with the downing of threads, and the covering of
their faces, stood in silent protest to the orders of the new regime.

A gentle sage had disappeared in the middle of a night, along with many
others of the world's finest and most experienced weavers, and the
stirrings of anger was felt amogst the inhabitants.

A few of the more defiant tested the new regime, questioned openly the
loss of privileges and the disappearances that were occurring regularly,
whole sections of the fabric removed, without explanation.

Some of the banished weavers re-appeared over a few days, all of them
dazed, discouraged, and unable to weave with the joy and vigour they had
once had. The whole land, the world within worlds was in shock, and were
questioning the authority of this new regime.

Some of the eldest weavers took up their needles and their threads and
tested the irregularity of these new rules, to find they were still able
to weave the next day. Other weavers less experienced, and obviously
disposible in the eyes of the regime,
disappeared with the blink of an eye.

Soon the beautiful fabric, that had been created with joy and love, was
in tatters, and the will to weave had been lost.

Where were these gentle folk to go?

How were they to bring back their peaceful existance?

A young weaver of exceptional quality, and the promise of being one of
this world's finest, had gone off on his own, to scout and seek a new
place for his friends and family. he came across a similar colony to the
one he had left, and with gentle inquiries, he found weavers of the
calibre of his family to be most welcome in this new colony.

Under the cover of darkness, which had become the norm, in his own
world, he whispered directions to this new colony, and asked that others
be told.

One by one the weavers left, with no time for goodbyes, or embrace, as
the regime had also frowned on any questioning or suggesting there may
be a kinder way to weave. Some of the weavers left were so
disillusioned, they could no longer weave, and sat despondant and
hurting.

A ripple of excitement washed through the weavers, this new colony
welcomed them embraced them, and opened their arms and homes to the new
weavers.

Under the dark of night the finest weavers left their homes, whispered
directions to others, and disappeared into the night.
Such a fine and ecclectic group of weavers they were, so talented and
imaginitive, and so eager to embrace their family as they arrived safely
and in awe of their new surroundings.

This new colony, somewhat familiar, and yet so foreign, accepted the
influx of weavers into their world, welcoming and applauding the
qualities these weavers brought with them.

Although there were thoughts of those left behind, and a deep regret for
the loss of their once beautiful world, the weavers set about adding
their colours and textures to the fabric of their new home.

They wished to show this colony that they were skilled craftsfolk, and
worthy of the welcome given them, and to show their gratitude at the
easy acceptance they had received.

Soon new threads, and new textures were spread gently into the new
colony, and the locals embraced them, and made them a part of their
world. No longer did the visitors feel displaced, and although
respectful of the welcome, to show their joy and relief wanted to
contribute and enhance the beauty of their new home.

And so they came to this new colony in groups and singular, all bringing
with them special crafts and talents, full of lustre and promise, and so
gifted in their art of weaving.

Carefully, and with great precision, the Mistresses and Masters of their
craft, the apprentices and the novices alike, took up the fibre, and the
fabric, of this great new place, and began to weave.

At first, with tentative and measured hand, ever mindful of the pattern
of the existing fabric, they created their threads. As time worn art
came back to their hearts and a sense of freedom bloomed in their souls,
the weaver's work became more confident, and joyful.

Colours of love, and fear, textures of heart, and strength, overlays of
wisdom, and history, and time, flowed from their hands, faster and
faster, and the sand in the hourglass slowed to allow them this space.

This new colony could feel the awakening of something gifted, and
prepared space for them all, with gratitude and humble peace in the
weaver's hearts, they wove on and on, into the dawn of new days, and the
deep of the future's night.

ahhhhhhhhhhhh and a sigh washes over my heart

my gawd what talent!

love this woman. Jesse... thank you

beautiful jess

Through brightest day, and sweetest dark, the weavers worked their
craft. Bright patches appeared, the colours and patterns of old rewoven,
brought from the histories of their old home, fresh, renewed, into the
existing fabric. Blending the history, and the past, of weaves gone by,
all could see the goodness and love that shone from the hands of the
weavers.

The new colony swelled and glowed, brighter than the sun could bare.
Stars turned their faces from the energy abounding in this universe.
Pulsating, and shivering, the fabric shifted and became translucent, and
yet, when caught by the eye of the knowing, all of it's beauty lay
exposed.

Inspired, and remembering weaves of old, others took up new threads and
cast their needles to the cloth. The outpouring of skill a feast,
prepared with care and concern, and joyful hearts. The colony felt the
shift, subtle at first, and a little daunting, so many weavers,
different textures, and colours.

Where to turn for the familiar, and the continual? The threads of old,
with new colours, patterns changed, and more diverse than they had been
before, familiar and yet, somehow different. Some embraced this new
fabric, others held back unsure.The apprentices and novices, of the
colony, watched with great interest this new style of weaving, that the
great Mistresses and Masters produced from the other place.

very good lee

and hopefully

enlightening

very inspirational, if one chooses to let it be.

I love it. please may I have some more.

doc

Slowly, and with great consideration of every stitch, the new weavers
worked their gentle magic into the warp and weft of this welcoming
tapestry.

With so much bustling activity felt by all, the finest of both the
worlds, came together, discreetly, and politely, and acknowledged the
craftwork of the other.Working alongside each other, their needles and
their threads teased, laced and wove a new story, with aa assuredness of
hand, and calming smiles.

Tolerance and patience, and an understanding of this gracious gesture,
made by both the newcomers, and the locals of this wonderful new colony,
wove the most beautiful patterns of friendship and love.

So many styles, some with flourish and dash, others more subtle and
obscure in their weaving, blended with the natural ambience of the
colony, and a more relaxed calm settled over most.

A few of the new weavers accustomed to their old ways found it difficult
at first to pick up the threads, and to follow the patterns, and
faltered, some withdrew, and others watched the more experienced weavers
for a time.

Many strode out to the edges of the fabric of this new society, and
methodically followed the patterns that were already in place, mirroring
the skill of the weavers that had been before.

As dawn passed and evening slumbered, the pace slowed, and peace came
over the colony, and many weavers relaxed, stepped back from their
handiwork, and with practised eye, looked for discrepancies, or flaws
that may have been included.

Pleased with the natural order, and the beginnings of a balance, after
the the upheaval of so many arriving in one influx, the colony descended
into a less frenetic pace, and soon a drumbeat, once so familiar to both
the new and the old ears of this wonderful world, could be heard, slow
and soothing amongst many of the threads.

clever little missy.

i await the single beat of unity. inter-twined teasing of the

weavers thread.

nice life to fiction translation

How the weavers worked their magic, joy and chatter filled the voids!!!
With new fibres found amongst the old, novices stretching their talents
and exploring their art, found woven in the threads new inspiration and
a desire to flourish.

The growth, the light, the glimmer of hope, woven so deep and dearly
throughout the cosmos, created ripples of excitement far into the other
constellations. The rent of days gone by, the tears within society still
there, but safely removed from this wonderous place, or so most thought.

Many of the threads, and some of the weaves were not given the honour
they deserved, and the Mistresses and Masters watched with cautious eye.
Taking cloth within their hands they patched and checked and sometimes
unpicked the work done by those clumsy of hand, but with a deep
understanding of the skill required to be a Master weaver.

Encouraging, and persevering with the new novices that had arrived, the
elders of both clans worked gently and patiently supporting the new
work, allowing the natural form to flow, with only a minor repair here
and there.

As the drumbeat slowed and the new land slumbered, stragglers and new
apprentices arrived, dazed and exhausted from their weary journey. They
had heard of this meeting of weavers, from lands of old, and times gone
by, and wondered at the light that shone so brightly.

With dreams and hopes ripe in new faces, these apprentice weavers meekly
accepted their surrounds. Amongst the new, were some of darkened face,
hoods covering their eyes, and their words uttered low and short. Some
came with envy in their hearts, with no desire to add to the glory of
the weave, but to place rot, and stains upon this cloth.

Wary eyes saw through the hoods, and blackened hearts, and found ways to
watch them, without being noticed. Nothing was going to spoil the works,
or ruin the glorious fabric of this merged society, and elders from both
colonies guarded the cloth with great care.

As a new day dawned, the colony had swelled to such large proportions,
that it appeared to be more of the refugees than the locals. This was
not the case, and the locals enjoyed discovering the nuances and
subtleties of some of the quality weavers.

With such high demand for thread, spinners were recruited, and from both
colonies many volunteered to learn this valuable task. A spinner was
required to keep the thread filled with only the finest of hope and
love, and many chose to put aside their weaving to meet the demand.

With new workers, spinners, weavers and elders, this colony appeared to
be overflowing, but with the constellations being such as they are,
expansion was as natural as the drumbeat within the colony.

Much discussion had been held at the gate, and rumour flew amongst the
thinner of lips, about what had befallen the old homeland. As optimism
was the lifeblood of the colony and the strongest of threads to weave,
the Mistresses and Masters gently drew the yarns and twines into the
main body of the fabric, and eased them into the intricate patterns.

This fabric of new life, and adjusting society, had many different
styles and contours to it's texture, and parts held great colour and
gaiety of pattern as the highest of regard. When only seeing this great
weave from one perspective, many of the more subtle shades appeared
almost grey and lifeless, but when veiwed from a place of overall, what
a marvel of love and joy, and hope it showed.

Even the dark reflected the light, and with deft fingers and skillful
needles, the finest of detail was added. Great swathes of the darkest
night, blended and balanced the blinding lightness of day, to create
harmony.

Not all were pleased with these great works, and chose when unnoticed,
to pull at the threads, and to twist at the fibre, in the hope of
loosening the fine network of weave to unravel.
This cloth was strong and resilient, and stain free, so was guarded
fiercely by the weavers, and amongst the newcomers, a tiny fear still
sat within them

whoa--quite a handful of readin' there--good work--