Pain has a way of unweaving the web of the mind.
Left untreated, it will unwravel the living tapestry of your soul and leave you with nothing more than terror and torment, tears and screaming, bound all together in a tightly tangled knot.
Ecstasy can be just as destructive. After a point, who can say which is worse? After a point, who can say which is which?
That is the time when you need a weaver. Someone good with His hands.
You might think that sewing is unmanly – but at this point, you’re an idiot if you complain. No-one who does not know this knotted territory can help you now. Haven’t they all tried? Haven’t they all failed?
Set a thief to catch a thief; can a tangle untangle a tangle, a knot unknot a knot? Deft fingers unwravel the confusion of your heart. No tangle is so tight that He cannot tease it loose it in the end.
He knows it hurts. Work with Him.
All the threads lie limply in a row. There is more work to be done, but you are exhausted and He is not so stupid as to tangle up everything He just put so much effort into freeing. So He waits.
And then one day, Needle’s son is back at your door again. With His sewn-up smile. ‘It’s time to weave a person from these threads’, He tells you. Sit with Him and tie the first knot.