Devotion

One of the myriad lovely things about spinning miles of white wool
and weaving it into yards of white cloth
is the thinking time.

Today, being Valentine's Day, I'm supposed to be thinking about Love.

But instead,
as I open each shed,
slide the stick shuttle across the warp
grasp it with waiting fingers,
adjust the position and angle of the yarn with the flick of a wrist
and press that strand into place before opening the shed again,
I dwell on devotion.

Devotion feels kind of like love, but more, well, nuanced.
It includes commitment 
and a bit of obsession.
There is passion, to be sure, and inspiration--
at least now and again, but not too often and not too much.
I think it also includes dedication, but without the need for ceremony.

No externally imposed ceremony, I mean.
Devotion is all about the simple daily ceremonies of doing of whatever it is.
Indeed to me it feels active.
It involves a practice: 
stuff to do, a thing or an idea with which to engage 
even when inspiration has gone in search of something more stimulating or popular
and passion is taking a nap. 

There a simple kind of pleasure in devotion,
pleasure that has nothing to do with measurable results or goals 
and can be as seemingly simple as transcending boredom,
which is sometimes no more than a willingness to keep going despite the prickles of tedium, until the tiniest shift in the light
or the brush of hand against cloth
feels like the center of everything.