The Allegory of a rock and a tree.

What in the world does this have to do with sewing and clothing? Everything actually so stick around you might just be inspired to be you today!

Once upon a time in a river valley not to long ago a creek full of life burbled, swirled and sang its way across rocks, over fallen logs. It was a beautiful stream and it was very happy just singing along, minding its own business.
In this river valley were young plants and bushes that provided shelter for the little animals that would come down for a drink. It was a beautiful place and everything living thing there loved being in that beautiful valley.

Surrounding the valley were some really amazingly tall trees, that had surveyed their valley for hundreds if not thousands of years. Every day they would stretch their branches up to the light and dance in the breezes as the wind came for a visit almost every day. They would shed their cones and seeds and wait with wonder and joy as each seed took root and grew into small but beautiful trees.

These small trees of course were growing closer to the river that gurgled and danced its way into the horizon. The soil seemed to have more rocks but the trees did not mind as they would bury their roots deeper in search of that dark, dank and fertile soil. They grew tall and round and animals would use them to scratch their backs, or perch in their branches as they hunted or hid for protection. They were amazing trees and their elders were so proud of them. They would wake every morning and stretch their limbs to the sun, they would play with the wind and sing their songs. The whole valley would fill with the chorus of the trees and the the animals would stop and listen. The humans who walked in moccasin feet felt at ease when the great trees sang, for it brought abundance and bounty to all who lived there.

The trees would sometimes be called upon to provide shelter for the humans in buckskin clothing. And with every swing of the ax, the human sang their songs, expressing their intentions and gratitude for the gift that the tree had provided. The young trees at times would await eagerly to be chosen as a teepee or hut as their gifts of life and light would bring more joy and protection from the harshness of winter or the heat of summer. It was a peaceful and beautiful valley and as the older trees slowly aged in wisdom they would bestow their knowledge to the younger trees in the valley.

Then one day everything changed. No one knows for sure how long it took but over time humans with big machines, axes, saw blades and other instruments tore the river and the surrounding area to bits. They were fevered with the search for gold and with their immense boxes and hoses that squirted tons of water they ripped, dug, shred and threw huge boulders around, burying the smaller trees with rubble. The trees who were not so lucky were burned, hewn or knocked over to provide for the miners camps during the bitter cold of winter. And as piles and upon piles of large and immense rocks began to fill the valley, everything wept. The elder trees became silent as they watched in horror at the destruction of their beautiful valley, their offspring, the humans in buckskins which no longer sang to them. The animals run for higher ground, seeking sanctuary in the dense forests further up the mountains. Birds no longer sang their songs of love and joy and instead sought shelter in safer areas.

The trees that did survive the mayhem were buried knee deep in huge boulders and rocks. And one day the gold ran out and the miners who had not starved or been killed slowly left the valley. Everything sighed with relief and a new hope that things would change back to the way it used to be. And so the elder trees began to sing and lift their branches to the sunlight. They glowed and shimmered in the evening setting sun and waited to hear the reply from the offspring and grand offspring located in the valley. But all they heard was rage. Rage and anger, frustration and moaning, crying from within the depths of their souls. They cursed the elder trees, screamed that they would no longer sing their songs, as they did not have their roots buried knee deep in boulders. They still had soil and water for their roots. How dare they sing of the beauty of light and abundance and happiness.

Slowly the valley began to recover, although the scars still cover the ground. The trees of the valley soon began to sing another song. A song of loss and war, pain and sorrow and a fear that one day the miners would come back and destroy everything.

They began to teach their offspring when their seeds fell that it would be safer to be a rock than a tree. To be a tree required that your life was forfeit if humans ever set foot upon the ground again. They in fact would push the rocks around the roots of their young trees to hinder their growth, to keep them from being the beautiful and majestic trees that they were. And slowly but with precision all the offspring trees could not sing. They did not hear the songs of the elder trees, even though the elders never stopped singing. And they began to believe that they too were rocks. If the winds blew too hard, they would snap and crash to the ground. If the river flooded because the natural way of the river had been ruined, they would loose their footing and fall into the water only to be swept away.  And the stories began that to be close to water was death, and to not be a rock was death and to grow too tall was a death sentence.

And so as time passed, the river changed its course, the elder trees rotted and fell to the ground to be replaced by younger trees. Animals came, had their young and moved on, and humans continued to pervade the space. Loggers came and ripped them down, selling their carcass for money. Until one day a few humans who knew the value of the trees began to protest and protect them. They created parks and sanctuaries for the trees and wild life. But still the trees along that river corridor have no memory of what it means to be a tree.

Who do you choose to be?

Are you going to wear clothing that feels amazing, makes you feel alive and whole? Or are you going to conform to the chaotic stories that we are still being told? That if you wear color in your corporate job you are using your feminine wiles not your mind. Are you choosing to follow fashion in the hopes that you will find love and acceptance by your peers? To stand out in our dressing means attention and attention has always meant you were a whore, a narcissist, a bitch or other choice words.  Are you willing to stand up and be that amazing, stunning and beautiful person? I certainly hope so because we as beautiful women need to remember the songs of our elder self, the all knowing and wise self. When we can remember that song, we can then lift our branches up to the light and and sing of the glories of our lives. Even if you are being told that you are wrong by those whom you love and you care about. Don't be afraid to be that person, it is truly worth everything.