When I was knitting in my homeless days, my mind had been cleared of material objectification. My soul had been washed of the shiny undulations of social stigmas. My knitting had purged from me everything that I once thought important, only to replace it with unimaginable simplicity: that life was more than the trappings I had pursued before. Things could easily be taken away again, but the experienced contemplation I gained in stitches was mine forever.
As my hands swiftly purled, the yarn softly swarming through my fingers in an arachnid fashion, these fingers became spinnerets of knitted things, while my soul hurried along behind, weaving and looming a greater sense of purpose. I wasn’t simply knitting a teddy bear, I was knitting a message about what I had learned about compassion and care, compromise and concern. I was knitting a letter to someone in the form of a teddy bear, a letter that remarked quietly on the connection between myself and the rest of the world, a letter penned in wool that asked to be loved.
This is what I wanted the world to hear, to read, to see and live and be inspired by. Your moments and actions, no matter how simple, produce great waves that heal or harm. And I was hoping to not only heal myself by knitting, but to heal anyone else out in the world who needed only a moment of kindness and connection with one of my teddy bears.
This is what I thought we were going to talk about, this is why I thought I had received so much instant attention, these are the messages people need to hear. But the producer from the Tyra Banks Show asked me instead, “So, did you ever eat out of a trash can?”
From the book, “Man Vs Skein-The Confessions of a Male Knitter.”
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