I had a moment today. I was feeling overwhelmed. A little anxious. I went outside and took a long break. I sat in the middle of the garden outside our school. Cried, wrote in my journal, drew, sat quietly. I went back inside, wiped the tears off my face, and then sat down at the loom with Jorgé.
Jorgé and I don't speak the same language, but he taught me. It was tough at first. But then I started to get it. It was all coming together. I wasn't thinking about anything. My hand was moving back and forth. We were beautifully working together ... in a rhythm, only communicating through craft, and not needing any language.
I stumbled away from the loom an hour and a half later. My feet were sore. My head was spinning with delight. I had a moment with Jorgé, with the loom. And there were really no words exchanged. Ah, the universal language of making.