I heard a saying this week while listening to a talk by Tim Cope; If you have to rush, rush slowly.

It has resonated with me.

When I read the phrase ‘Slow Textiles’ recently on social media, my initial reaction was a quick turning of the eyes skyward – another slogan to be added to the Hipster Dictionary. Images of fermenting linen danced across my mind. Putting my inner cynic to the side, I let the words linger a little longer.

In so many ways life is on a fast track like never before. We crave convenience to such an extent that we have become not only willing, but eager consumers. Searching out the latest, shiniest, what is trending, being hit, shared, liked, pinned.

Slow, from a conditioned point of view, is tainted with negative interpre

tation; behind the eight ball, not up to speed, yesterday’s news. And yet there is such value in the ability to pause, breath a moment longer, make space for another way, an alternative thought, or if you are brave enough to relinquish the control of inner dialogue, allow just for a moment, no thought at all.

To rush slowly, evoked in me that inner balance. Cope described it as the midway point between passion and patience, between the need to have ambition, to feel propelled forward, to have a goal and yet to be gentle, to tread lightly as you move forward and find the way that honours yourself and others simultaneously.

This creative process, between action and inaction, can take you into the places that are alive and beyond your imagination. It happens when you are living in cooperation with something that is greater than the small version of yourself. It takes an inner bravery that is very quite, very still. It doesn’t have slogans or a tag and is far too often missing from our lives today.

To rush slowly. What a lovely combination of words to cross my path this week.

Last week I sat down for a morning meditation and looking out the window noticed a group of birds on the electrical wires outside. As they moved about amongst themselves, some coming and some going, they began to resemble the notes on a page of music. I filmed them to later translate their movement into a composition and while sitting down to view the footage at the piano was struck by how fleeting a moment in time and particular combination of elements (be they family, friends, feelings) are. The void that was left as one bird flew off, left a space for something new to emerge and the various connections and disconnections as they jumped from one wire to the next released the monotony that would have ensued if they had sat still and isolated in their own little world. Now each time I look up at birds on the wires and wonder – what music are you creating up there?

She had entered into

the unknown territory.

The inner heart

she now occupied

was strange and beautiful

and compelled her forward.

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