Northwest Anchor for "Weaving the Dream!"

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Posted by ellenHelga on October 02, 1998 at 20:34:45:

Dear Millennium Dream Weaver,

My dear friend Penny and I often meet in discussion, and like Penelope -- the wife of Odysseus from the myth ›The Odysseyˇ -- we beg time, hoping to slow the impact of this millennium shift by weaving our experiences into conversation. We dis-cover ourselves weaving world news in-to-formation. Then at the eve of our reality conceptualization, that is -- our story of what the millennium shift is all about -- we pull carefully at the stands, reducing our newly woven creation fabric back to its essential though obscure origins.

Penny and I do agree, and appear to consistently establish and include that part of the story which suggests that our world population, knowingly or otherwise, is deeply, and all-together in a state of in-volution into this ever more apparent shift of reality.

We conjecture that a bare and rare few have organized a definition as to what is developing. We appear so dizzy from the in-volution in our e-volution, that attempts at definition scatter us into a countless polar factions. While many of polarities are mirror plays of light, we have noted that the shadow begs inclusion, and pops up in the most unlikely places.

Everyone has a dream. While all the dreams appear to have some commonality, we seem to hold on to our individual dreams for dear life, fortifying peripheral boundaries in the hope of bolstering our personal sense of security. We then find ourselves in the ivory tower of our dreams without a roadmap to guide our manifestation into the new paradigm. Simply put, we are lost in our heads T-R-Y-I-N-G to make sense of new experiences. We are badly in need of processes which will allow ›The Dreamˇ to ›Matterˇ. We need processes to midwife the millennium co-creation.

To that end Penny McManigal confabulated the life/live, transformational, art process we call ›Weaving the Dream!ˇ ( ). I participated in the Klamath Millennium Gathering, with all the trimmings to engage millennium pilgrims in actually ›Weaving the Dream!ˇ.

I intended to anchor into ground the ›Weaving the Dream!ˇ process in Oregonľs Klamath county. I hoped to facilitate the manifestation of an icon signifying ›The Emerging Fabricˇ. I wanted mouths to stop talking ›about the millenniumˇ long enough to experience the bliss of our actual weaving. I hope ›Weaving the Dream!ˇ will become a signifier for the unification of tens, hundreds, thousands, if not tens of thousands of individual dream projects.

I set out from Ashland, OR to Klamath Falls, OR, bags in hand, carrying poles and rebars, nets, flags and fabrics, strings and sachets, glue and once worn garments, clips and clothes pins, and that bag of miscellaneous who knows whatľs which promised a sustainable weave.
(see for instructions.)

Klamath days were bright and sunny, with gentle breezes to keep the flags waving. The early mornings displayed just a bit of haze over Klamath Lake, a haze the bright sun quickly burned to clarity. About 75 people gathered and would engage in a variety of planned events, in the service of improved consciousness towards the millennium. We were searching for a new way to gather, to build community, to create, to manifest.

We introduced ourselves and our projects. We uhhhed! and aaahhhhed! at each new revelation of dreams spoken. We pinned our pictures to the walls and decorated the designated tables with descriptive literature and business cards. (Old ways die hard.)

We gathered in think tank groups and brainstormed dream directions. We offered suggestions and received ideas in wide eyed wonder. From tribal consciousness round and round back to tribal consciousness we flowed, vainly fantasizing acting out of our second maturity, when all the while I saw us climb the words of a second Tower of Babel. I saw us as a people intended for the co-creative throne, blinded by our own divinity, yearning for second sight.

Intermittently I scurried to the area designated for ›Weaving the Dream!ˇ. It was a lovely grassy area, in the shade of a building. Several large boulders held the space as, in the background, the lake reflected the sunshine framed by a blue, clear blue sky. The grass was very, very green. I hoped not to miss the pivotal events of the gathering, while still being prepared for the Weaving Process, which was to occur the next late afternoon.

The rebars were easily hammered into the ground. The bamboo poles mounted on the rebars with no complaints. With the help of several folks, the net was firmly fixed to the bamboo poles. I had prepared the banners in advance. They easily connected to the bamboo poles as well. Setting the loom for the weaving was not a problem.

Already woven into the net were those items which the participants of Sacred Theatre in Ashland had blended during their weaving process. We connected the northwest flag to the Axis Mundi (the center post). There too I added the black and white Balinese checkered flag honoring the demons. (The Balinese believe well honored demons are quiet demons prone to leave us to our lightwork.)

The nineteenth of August was spent in many excellent rituals, all moving folks physically around the campus grounds. After an envigorating round of badminton and ›hopscotch for healthˇ the group formed a line, then hands on shoulders, eyes closed proceeded to carry their experiences in serpentine fashion across the lawn, down the stairs and around the building to the master loom.

Folks had been asked to bring a strip of fabric significant in their life. For the past two days one or the other person revealed, with excitement in their voice, the story of their fabric. I returned a smile with gratefulness that each had actually recalled the assignment, though I was prepared to offer fabric alternatives which Penny and I had collected from years of sacred journeys and adventures.

In true nested reality fashion, folks were weaving in their depth mind even while engaged in the many events offered at the gathering. The physical weave appeared to offer some relief from the covert assimilation underway in the depth of the individual or cumulative millennium mind.

We sat bunched together, on the green grass, while I conveyed the nitty gritty of what we would be doing for the next bit of real time. I had planned an empowering meditation but was upstaged by a gentleman bursting into an Hawaiian chant. The old me might have taken exception to this sudden shift of attention; but his chant was so lovely, I enjoyed its color in our weave.

In silence we approached the sacred circle, planning where to add our contribution. Inside, outside, topside, to poles and in between clothespins, folks mindfully entwined their fabric. A Canadian flag had been offered, and was now dancing in the summer winds of this US campus. For an instant I saw vivid images of flags and banners flying on the grounds of ancient castles, state buildings, and the UN. Presenting the banners took on a new meaning for me.

Photos I snapped at our process hardly show the intensity of facial expression, and definitely fail to represent the slowing and deepening of breath as the circleľs center portal appeared to open, permitting imaginal journeys beyond local time and space.

A Buddhist chant, in Bass voice, punctuated our release into unification, as egos and little local troubles were parked in a heap at a distance on the side of the lawn. We are the loom. We are the weaver, the weaving and the woven. We are the fabric from out of time.


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