She wove conscientiously the points keeping in mind most of the time the greatest good of all. She knew that some of what she wove would not be witnessed in her time but in eons to come. Other parts of what she wove were for immediate results or results on the short or medium term. In the beginning it had been disappointing that the desires she had did not have an immediate resolution but she had learnt to accept this. She looked upon her task as a humanitarian one as she was weaving a better consciousness. She wondered how many out there were like her weaving a better series of connections into the collective consciousness.
Sometimes, her old shadows returned and she would need to stop the weaving during those days. That could mean no weaving for several days in a row. She always wondered whether her consciousness would still be connected so closely with the collective consciousness to affect it in a significant way or if these days of absence would have weakened the contact. Every time she had such doubts they were dispelled immediately when she returned to weave for the greatest good of all and saw the almost immediate results. She wondered how she could cope with her shadow selves to bring them out to the light and no longer have to sit in between all the time. This would allow her to keep weaving every day instead of having to make a pause.
One day she caught herself talking to one of her shadow selves that had strayed into the room. It was no longer lurking behind her as they always tended to do when they manifested, watching her, thinking she was unaware of their presence or pretending they thought that. She normally would only observe them and try to fill them with light but they would take cover, literally and refuse to be dissolved most of the time although she had been able to lighten a couple of them. Today however, she decided to talk to the one who had unwittingly strayed into the room.
Why do you need to provoke the advent of darkness, she said
Because that is what we are made of, she answered
But you are me and if you are me, you cannot be made of darkness for I am light
There is no light without darkness so therefore if you are light, we have to be darkness
Will you always exist? Is there no end to some of you?
Who knows? You have taken such liberty with the self that there is so much light. We have kept some to ourselves. It is our bubbles of liberty where we choose to express the colours grey and black. Are they not colours too? Why refuse them? Surely as an artist you should know that a palette must be complete? How would you paint the night without us? Or the ravens or the dark clouds if not for those colours?
She thought to herself that she must be right. She should perhaps leave them these bubbles of liberty.
She smiled at him. He was getting more interesting by the day. She always knew that her interest in men was more of the sapiosexual kind but had not realized until this day how much this was true. It was not that he was not handsome, far from that. In fact, she would classify him quite high on the handsome scale although his features might not be the classical handsome face. Yet it was not that which attracted her. What appealed to her most was the fact that he knew so much about a variety of matters and spoke like her several languages, some of which she did not speak herself.
He sensed her keener interest and was visibly flattered. He moved closer to her and she nudged towards him, her left flank now touching his right flank. She could feel the heat seep towards her from under his shirt. She felt all warm and cosy and it gave her a fuzzy feeling. He looked intently at her. Her eyes shone with that particular sheen which had captivated him right from the start. Unlike his green and gold speckled eyes, her eyes bore a dark liquid intensity that he had rarely seen in the eyes of the girls he had flirted with before.
This one was going to be trouble for his heart if she did not respond to his wishes in the way he wanted. He knew she wanted and celebrated her freedom. Would they be able to keep this feeling despite the both of them being so fiercely independent, he wondered? Yet he knew that every time he was away from her it was like something within him was missing. He simply had to come back to her or her to him, he was not sure which one of them wandered back to the other. Like drunken sailors they seemed to rift apart and then stumble into each other again.
It was as if an invisible thread with a spring-like quality was holding them and brought them back to each other when they wandered away too far. He had heard a saying once that people who were meant to meet were tied by an invisible thread. If the saying was true, then he and she were apparently glued together with several servings of invisible thread. He smiled to himself. He liked the idea of being strung up as long as it was with her…