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  • Scout Sonnenberg

Dream Catchers.

One of my people lost someone very important to him. I prayed, texted, messaged, called, held vigil & just stood quietly beside him. I am sure it did not ease his pain. But even if I am not the balm for a crushed heart- I will error on the side of showing up.

He wanted some dream catchers- asked me where to buy them. I asked for a description of what he was looking for... The next day I grabbed my wallet & called my Uber driver (Paula) & we went to the store. I spent 3 hours finding the right thread & sizes of rings & charms & beads & feathers & leather. I felt them all because texture is everything when you’re blind. My mind was assembling, disassembling, reconfiguring with every piece I picked up & put down.

When I create for people I love, I interview the mediums. I have a communing of sorts. I stare at paints & ask the colors what they think. I invite different pieces to become a part of the creation. Sometimes they decline & I have to move on down the row. I pick things up & put them down & muse. When I pick them up again, if they feel like home, they come with me.

When I create for those I love in a situation like this- it doesn’t stop until the creation is settled in the hands of the one it is made for. My mind doesn’t stop planning. My heart doesn’t stop holding space for the recipient. There is heat in my spirit. It is like a crockpot full of empathy & adrenaline. It is a lot to do with my synesthesia. My momma has it too. You can google it for tonight. I want to explain it to you sometime but I will have to be well-rested & on my game because it is magnificent & maleficent at the same time.

The colors & the textures & the mental picture converged. I bought the materials. At this point the anxiety is so high it is almost painful. I worked through the night as I needed him to have in his hand something beautiful that smashed together what was lost with what he hopes for. On the day we came together to celebrate the life of the man he loved, I needed him to know that he could still dream. That the legacy left to him was strong & sure. That his people were listening & paying attention & really seeing him (even if that felt raw for a while).

I put words on a piece of paper & stamped his name on the cocoon of tissue & when he had a moment I told him I had something for him. I made the delivery & released to him tangible proof that beauty & pain & heartache & hope all cuddle up in a messy pile. And that it is ok to sort through it on his time, at his pace, in his way. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference that day. I knew it had all been too heavy for some time & that there was no relief in the release.

I knew that there was absolutely nothing in this offering that was about me. If he had thrown them on the ground & stomped them I would not have blamed him. There is no wrong way to grieve. But I knew I was supposed to hand them over & my hope was that these little dream catchers would leak out tiny puffs of whispered reassurance representing all that is good in his life. That they might remind him at a glance that he is known & he is loved & he will always have company; when it is hard, when it is happy, when he needs something to feel like home. They were to represent all of his tribe. And the message from me~ “You are worth creating for.”

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