My name is Moira and in Greek mythology the Moiraes are the Fates. Every person is assigned their share in the scheme of things by these Goddesses.
Moiragetes, the god of fate, was their leader. Klotho, whose name means “Spinner,” spinned the thread of life. Lakhesis, whose name means “Apportioner of Lots”–being derived from a word meaning to receive by lot–, measured the thread of life. Atropos (or Aisa), whose name means “She who cannot be turned,” cut the thread of life.
I am sure that your land offered up mythical creatures too with these powers, and some of your community even assigned these qualities to you. I have been reading about how some of your visitors bestowed on you and your blue bottle the capacity to cut the thread of life and to prevent it from being cut. In these days we bestow these same powers on superfoods, exercise regimes, pharmaceuticals and all sorts of concoctions.
My grandfather was always of the opinion that a honest, hard day’s labour is the best elixir of life. He was the longest living of my grandparents and lived longer than my own father by twenty years. This is not to say the others didn’t work hard but he was the one who got up each day, even after a debilitating stroke in his late 60s to go to his shed and stick to a regime of creativity with his carpenter hands.
He liked to measure everything, and in his shed was a yard ruler that folded out from three hinges and it entertained me and never tired from arrangements I would make with each of its limbs. I am sure I would have learnt how to measure from him. He also had a set square, and a protractor and a spring loaded tape measure that would zip in and out as if by magic at the press of a little silver tag that fitted my finger perfectly. Getting the precise measurement was essential to any of his wooden creations. He was practical and made objects that had a purpose – a high chair for the great-grandchildren (years after he had a stroke and had no use of his dominant right hand); a holder for his hand at cards so he could place them vertically and no one else could see them (he still cheated); a tool box (for a grandson in law who needed tools if he was going to be any sort of husband for me, his only grand-daughter); a pool table (for all the grandchildren so we had something to play when we visited). Most of them were painted Lincoln green as that was the colour of the tin of paint well stocked in his shed.
I am recalling him Kenneth Horatio Were because of his gift of measuring. I find there are so many ways to measure at my disposal and they way we measure often defines where our priorities are. We get measured by our height, weight, bank balance, address book … and the list goes on. A new evaluator in the twittersphere is measuring social media in dollars, cocaine market price, Big Macs, gold and iPhones. I am not sure if it is market related and so maybe one day I am more valuable than another?
There is no measure for how much we are blessed though; and if there was such a calculation, I would be beyond measure. I am loved in abundance in the visible and invisible worlds. I have my health and each day I wake up to a symphony of birdsong and each night witness the glory of sunset. I am certain that I am not alone and am connection across the ages and the species with animate and inanimate. There are days when I have to pinch myself for being so alive to all that the Uni-Verse has on offer to me – a cornucopia beyond measure.
I often laugh at the ways the threads of my life are woven and spun together – synergy and synchronicity abound. I hope that when my last breath arrives and Atropos decides to use her scissors that the word on my lips will be thank you.