Tapestry

A slight flaw, perhaps a tiny frayed thread, hardly noticeable.
It appears then disappears unobserved
- the tapestry is strong enough to heal itself.
It overcomes without so much as a whimper or sigh.
Life goes on, not a beat missed, the infirmity instantly forgotten
- erased as quickly as it came from the collective memory.

More and more come and go just as quietly, just as quickly, yet over time, inch by inch, thread by thread, the fabric is weakened.
Still subtle, only noticeable by the fibers themselves, scurrying to heal and keep up "the pace" of life, hoping to keep their weakness concealed.
After all, weakness is 'bad', and slowing down is for 'losers'.
Above all, they must band together to protect the image - keeping up appearances is so important.

From a distance, the tapestry looks new, flawless.
Shimmery in all the right spots, boasting dramatic scenes and intense colors.
"Most people" don't look any closer.
They don't notice the secret scars lurking here or there, next to the print of a gilded leaf or a lofty branch
- the surrepticiously mended spots, tended in secret by the fibers themselves, always scurrying about to hold it all together, lest anyone notice, lest they fall behind in the race, lest they show signs of weakness.


"Most People" are just too busy to notice.
And that suits "everyone" just fine.


After years or decades of hiding, the strain becomes to great, the burden of disguise to heavy, and a threadbare section is revealed.
Aghast, "everyone" takes in a shocked breath and stares at the gaping hole, knowing the truth deep inside, but never daring to speak it
- the truth that with no threads left, there is no way to heal.
No way out, no inner strength, no way to mend.

Having witnessed the pattern before, "they" all induldge their own favorite flavor of denial.
For the truth is that the future holds only more bare spots, threadless, gaping, ghastly holes where there was once a lovely tapestry.
They will keep coming, one upon the other, ever more quickly as time goes on.
The fissures will grow, new ones will appear.
Desperate attempts to patch things up with all manner of devices - needles, looms, and exotic skeins give glimmers of hope, but never the permanency of healing.

Because the secret lies within.
The tapestry must have enough strength within itself to heal.

Would things have been different if better care had been taken in earlier days?
If those subtle tears and signals had been listened too more carefully?
If the tapestry had been cared for with more tenderness, more love even?
Or perhaps, was there a fatal, insidious, invisible flaw right from the beginning that would inevitably reveal itself and its' ruinious intent?

Is there enough strength within for healing, or has it been squandered away in the great competition?

Look inside, then.
See what's left.