We have a huge Chinese rug in the living room, 10 feet by 15 feet, 1 inch thick.
It is truly gorgeous. The colors and design are out of this world.
Sky-blue borders, decorated with flowers, all against a crème background. And it feels wonderful under your bare feet.
Who made this carpet I so enjoy? I feel I know him, or her, or them. I appreciate the sheer scale of its beauty and its masterful craftmanship.
Was the design handed down generation to generation, perhaps on rice paper? Or was it kept “in-mind” and shown only when needed?
The Aborigines of Australia hand down tomes and tomes of knowledge, kept in thousands of cues from the land, in what they call “song-lines”, some of them hundreds of miles long – nothing written down.
Just knowing this is even possible, I feel drawn to them, and feel in some way I know them.
The ancient Greeks recited the Iliad and the Odyssey from memory.
In some real sense, those who made this rug live with me, a part of them, that is. The sense of beauty and high achievement is always there, something to “eat up” again and again.
Perhaps, ultimately, this is what makes a painting great, or a musical piece great, or a meal great - that it is the essence of the person that is there and is expressed – their being on earth made this so.
So, next time you sense something that moves you, that shouts “greatness,” perhaps you are really reacting to not just the piece, but the creator even now being present, too.