We are Woven Together.
On re-introducing this Substack.
“What is the poet longing for? The warrior, the stockbroker, the frustrated artist, the ceramicist? Around what beloved center does the dancer whirl in spirals of longing? Around what does the weaver spin their tapestries and basket makers pull their reeds? Its care for the ‘pillared invisible,’ Osip Mandelstom asks, ‘its crystal temple, all air and otherness?’…If the mystics are to be believed, all yearning in one way or another is yearning for union…
…So humanity rides impulsive waves of want that take us in a thousand different directions. But that wave is seeking ultimately to take us to the place where we are known, held by the Beloved in that ever elusive place called Home.” – Joshua Michael Schrei, The Emerald
Good morning, beloved —
On the morning of the Spring Equinox, I awoke two hours earlier than usual, an invisible vernal breeze rousing my being to the altar. A thick, spring rain sang its song against the surfaces surrounding me. Pouring itself out on the page, it invited me to do the same.
The dark cloud layer broke as the eastern sun began to rise, or rather, we continued turning. Orange, pink, and purple striations layered above the horizon line before giving way to another bright melancholy day.
The Cycle keeps on spinning and this truth remains enough. That the miracle of Life keeps creating is encouragement for me to do the same. I breathe into the perfect, fleeting balance of yin and yang even as the temporal sand slips between my fingers, only to be caught again at autumn’s turn. I thank the primeval atom, the Sacred Breath, the wings of the great Spirit Bird whose whoosh propels the world around—the many named, unfathomable cosmic Mystery orchestrating it all.
I bow before whatever force that even this Mystery surrenders to.
In the northern hemisphere, it is a precious time for rebirth. The same is true, in fact, in the southern—for autumn is the springtime of death1, birth of a different kind. It is time to move regeneratively, and time to make the first of many subtle shifts that have been stirring within.
Today, I’d like to re-introduce this Substack by its new name: Woven Together.
Why? A few reasons.
I have always thought of myself as more of a weaver than a writer.
That is to say that there is an invisible, felt current I seek to thread through my words. A rhythm longing for a body. A longing for a union. A returning of Creativity back to a Creator, stitching back and forth and back and forth. That this energy finds its way into a digital, alphabetic form most likely read on an attention-siphoning black rectangle feels paradoxical at best, yet maybe that’s exactly how this many-faced god wants it to be.
This is to say that the shift here will be subtle, and the substance of this Substack will remain the same. Each essay will continue to be a woven work—an intertwining of personal, socio-cultural, and ecological threads that forms an interpretive tapestry with this ceaselessly complex world. To see everything in anything remains a lens I cherish.
This is also to say that this country’s social fabric seems to be tearing itself apart. It feels as though these often capacity-exceeding times have also exceeded our capacity to come and remain together, especially when we don’t see eye-to-eye. Mainstream and social media discourse pushes us into echo-chambers, or politics aside, into a screen that severs us from our actual living surroundings, or perhaps into an escapist desire to live in the woods and simply withdraw. I am tired of being served divisive content—whether that’s from the media or from the mouths of those who’ve internalized it. I am tired of people giving up on each other just as much as I am tired of bigotry.
It feels as though we have forgotten how to turn toward another and say, “This is where I hurt,” and to see that the “other” is bleeding too. That a starting place could, perhaps, really be this simple.
That alongside the systemic need for “rapid, far-reaching, and unprecedented changes in all aspects of society"2 that there is also a very human, very critical need to remember ourselves back into each other, back into the animate life-world that has always been our home, back into the river of a Deeper Time that is cyclical and regenerative in nature, into a messy, interconnected complexity that our systems actually desire.
And so I invite a new intention into this space—that it can bring attention to the throughlines of connectivity between people, places, ideas, movements, and whatever else binds us together.
What we pay attention to grows.3
After nearly two years (and 43 posts!) on this platform, this practice continues evolving. What remains true—I write because I love it. And what is love but a yearning for completion?4 That is and always will be enough.
At times, my Aquarius stellium wants to endlessly research everything, dive into rabbit holes and emerge with insight and analysis that nourishes the collective; my Pisces brain, however, usually wants nothing more than to melt into the non-sensical as a primary form of sense-making. It is profoundly at peace with inconclusivity so long as we meet in the pulsing flesh of the language.
I grant permission for my whole self to be here—all parts of me woven together and shared with you. May any space we share offer the same invitation back to you.
I’m contemplating a subtle structural shift: continuing to write an essay that dives into the theme at hand, and making “REPRISE” its gooey poetic counterpart. Sense and nonsense. This would mean that “REPRISE” would no longer be a resource round-up, though sources and inspiration would remain included as footnotes in every piece.
This would also mean a shift in monetization—that all posts would be unlocked, and that I will continue asking you to support in the ways that feel aligned to you. That if you receive value from my work, that you consider helping it continue via a subscription, one-off contribution, or sharing it with your people.
If you’re a reader who loves the current format of REPRISE and doesn’t want to see it go away—please write to me! You can always, always write to me. Seriously, please write to me.
I have something else that’s ready to meet you soon. I’m still building the nest piece by piece. Patiently. Persistently. I promise to come back and tell you here, so we can fly together soon.
Until that day comes, thank you for your precious presence and attention with me here.
May we remember that the Latin root of “attention”—attendere—means “to reach out” or “to stretch toward.”
That the shaman finds knowledge by propelling awareness laterally, into the depths of the landscape.5
That it’s the spider’s web that holds its memories.6
That we can still build a Home out of all of this.
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In Case You Missed It
If you’re new here, welcome! Take a wander through some of my favorite essays below. Join as a subscriber and never miss an issue.
Stay Connected
• Email: izabellazucker@gmail.com
• Instagram (though limiting time spent here)
“It was autumn, the springtime of death.” – Tom Robbins
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC)
adrienne marie brown, Emergent Strategy
“Love is not a desire for beauty. It’s a yearning for completion.” – Octavio Paz
See “The Ecology of Magic” chapter in Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram. Really, see the entire book.
“The Webs We Weave” by Willow Defebaugh
Leaving my warmest wishes here for the new intention here. I’m weaving right alongside you! 🤍✨
Excited to co-weave this world alongside your wonderful attention, friend.