Meditations on the nature of imperfection

I view my knitting as a movable meditation. It stretches my brain in new directions as I learn a new technique, or finally realize an understanding of something I've been doing by rote for a long time. In each stitch lies the potential for greatness, for tension and laxity in balance, in uniformity, if desired, or in the delightful thick-thin unevenness of a highly textured handspun yarn. All stitches can possess their own beauty, if they are in the place, shape, form I desire them to be. And any stitch can be unceremoniously ripped out. You cannot do that when sewing with fabric. You get one chance, and one chance only, really, to coax the fabric, thread, and machine engine into the right arrangement for your project at hand. That's far too much pressure for me.

I feel perhaps most like a "real knitter" when I am frogging row after row after row of stitches that don't quite measure up. As I slowly breathe and unravel and practice detachment, I remind myself that Buddhist monks make gorgeous, intricate sand paintings over the course of days, and then watch them blow away, grain by grain, scattering the prayers and intentions placed with each sphere of sand to the four winds. So every stitch I knit, unknit and knit again is a prayer, a meditation on love for the recipient of the final object. This keeps my brow from furrowing so deeply, as I am, above all, an imperfect knitter.

It is this realization of my current degree of imperfection in my chosen craft that actually brings me joy - it is so easy for me to gauge progress, measure how much deeper my understanding of the interplay of fiber, sticks and hands has become. Knitting also affords me safe exploration into attitudes of kindness toward self - why am I so critical? Why did it take so long for me to believe that I was worthy of embarking upon a "real" project, with "real" materials? And for what reson did I believe that I would first have to practice before doing, when all the while, it truly is the doing that contains the practice.

Knitting is a meditation in so very many ways for me, and as such, it is a deeply spiritual as well as intellectual, creative, artistic and industrious enterprise. My wish for all knitters is that each and every one may feel the satisfaction that comes with the peace of doing, undoing, and doing again.

Namaste.