global knitting

While showering this morning I was thinking about the concept of contemporary globalization as used by Olivier Roy of the School of Social Science in Paris. There are fundamental shifts in social structure, space/time/geographical constructs. As the individual becomes globalized the primacy of national identity is reduced. This person may become uninvolved in the local community, but be highly involved globally. This is a change from the old church-centric universe, bordered by relatively tight physical boundaries, just as the traditional farm is bounded by visible borders.

This globalization can have an impact in all areas and can create disconnects between religion and culture or on the individual and surrounding culture.

This is how I feel about my own local community. I am uninvolved for the most part and have few friends within the community. Sometimes I worry about this – but wonder how to make those connections when most of my waking life is spent elsewhere. I also wonder how many like minded people there are to be found within this small community.

I am more connected globally, politicized on the vital issues of the day, and I am involved with people and friends in distant cities and on other continents.

My artistic work – textile work, is mostly a private endeavor. I draw energy from design I see around the world – from nature – from architecture. None of this requires real interaction with live individuals – at least not in the sense of working with people in my community. Much of my nurture comes from nature and from books and music. The intellectual curiosity never ends and I cherish the interactions across the globe that feed that need.

At times I long for the connections I do not have. Yet, when thrust in the midst of that environment, I tire quickly. I seem to have chosen a more reclusive path once my work day ends; I am rather ambivalent about changing that. I jealously guard my time.

And in the midst of these ponderings I received an invitation to a book reading. The author’s name was not familiar. (Once I reached a certain age, all names seem to fly away from me – to resurface only in the odd moment when they were no longer needed.) I looked up the author – I had read one of her books, (The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf by Mohja Kahf) had loved it completely. I had written a brief “review” about this book. “Outstanding. Good for all ages - by that I mean if you are 18 or 80. If you are Muslim, or anti-muslim or curious at all about the people in your world, if you love books, if your heart is open or if your heart is closed. This book is a gem. Buy it and share it with all your friends.” I said this book belonged in that new body of American literature. I meant my imagined body of American literature that encompasses the literature of all her writers, not as sub-genres (Immigrants in America?) but as part of the American experience.

I shared this with the organizers of the book reading event, and was invited to introduce her. What an honor.

That synchronicity that appears when it will, and reminds us what it is to be human, to make unexpected connections, is one of the great joys of living. This is connection – just a different kind of connection than hanging out with one’s neighbors. It is knitting together of a different sort.