A repeating theme in many epic novels, poems, and mythologies is that a Supreme Creator manifested the universe with many threads in a great tapestry. The ancient German concept of Wyrd, the Norse prose Edda, Plato’s theory of forms, and even Tolkien’s music of the Ainur all carry this concept. The idea is that each of us, in our own way, is woven into this great tapestry and will, in some way, be part of the greater story. This is a pervasive concept, and I always find it coming up in stories and references in literature.
So, last night, when I turned my phone on, Spotify’s auto-advance feature started playing the song “I Won’t Give Up” by Jason Mraz. At the end of the first verse, he asks himself, or perhaps the person he is in a relationship with, “How old is your soul?” I pondered that question and made the connection between this concept of the eternal nature of souls and the great tapestry. You see, in order for us to stand as a single thread in the great universal tapestry, then we have to represent something. We have to be something unique enough to stand as a single thread in a majestic, beautiful weave.
So suspend your rational view of the world for just a moment and pretend, as Mr. Mraz’s song implies, that you have been around a lot longer than your birth here on earth. Pretend for a moment that we are all old, ancient, beyond reckoning in terms of time. Pretend for a moment that is true, then what per-say, would you be? What idea would represent you?
Think about this for a minute. What if all the mythology of our past has been dancing around a concept that each of us is indeed part of a greater, more magnificent story being told by some all-powerful and divine creator? This story is still ongoing, being told as we go throughout our lives. This story is a beautiful ballad, a great painting, a magnificent tapestry, or whatever allusion you want to make. If this were to be the case, then what small piece of that story would you be?
What is the idea that is you? If there is something that has existed forever, it would be the idea of you. That idea existed before there was time before the story began, so if that is the case, then what is that idea? Can your life, your dreams, your ambitions, and all that you have ever sought to do culminate in a single idea? The one idea that will be woven into the Divine Creator’s grand tapestry?
This concept, true or not, resonates with me in a powerful way. What is my thread? What is the tune? What is the note that will be attributed to me when all is said and done? Can I own that, be that, magnify that? So last night, during a meditation session, I allowed my mind to chase this rabbit, and as I tumbled down the hole, I realized that I did not know. I felt close to the idea, felt like it was almost in my grasp, but then slipped away as I found myself falling asleep. I felt as if I was gliding on ice, pursuing this elusive concept, this idea of me.
Is this arrogance, perhaps? Super-Ego trying to attribute importance when none is there? Maybe I am just some efficiently arranged carbon atoms held in tow by a strong gravitation field as we travel, sprawling through the void at bewildering speeds. But no, I do not think so. I think there is an idea that represents who I am. A name is yet to be assigned, and then when I find it, I will discover the divinity behind my purpose. A song yet to be sung, a story yet to be told.
So then I woke up the next day, and I had to do the dishes. Take out the trash, clean out my email inbox. I have to pay a bill, transfer some money, and stare listlessly at the unmoving pile of laundry in my closet. My song is interrupted for a few moments as I plan my week of work activities. One conference call slipped into my supposed time off today. I think that maybe my thread will be the one that is the snag that causes the run in God’s great work. Most of the time, I feel like I am unraveling, fraying away in this cosmic tapestry that I am trying to describe.
Yet, I see hope in this concept. Somewhere buried in this paperwork on my desk, underneath this pile of junk in my garage, or perhaps nestled in the center console of my vehicle, I will find that idea that best identifies me. So I continue to play my one note, as off-key as it sounds, in the hope that someone, somewhere, is listening to the entire song and hears something beautiful.
