I took my child to a ballet. “Silk” by three choreographers, Benjamin Millepied, Glen Tetley and Aszure Barton. It was a performance by four ballerinas in three parts, “Without”, “Untouched” and “Gemini” on music by Curtis Macdonald, Njo Kong Kieet Ljova and Hans Werner Henze. Music, movement, lights and the entire performance appeared to ask if I can you hear the sound of silk.

As I grow older, i appreciate more and more the silk. Its texture, its fluidity, its playfulness with light. The invisible thread it keeps with nature in a busy urban life. Silk comes from a living being who passes on to it its warmth, its desire to grow and transform itself. It is the perfect teacher of generosity of an fully altruistic act. Hence its strength. Ripping it apart is quite a challenge.

I start noticing the silk in my shirts, my dresses, my bed linen, my lingerie, my hair brush, my scarfs, my buddy’s ties, my hippy bracelets. I notice “Silk” in the title of books I read. “Silken Prey” by John Stanford. “The House of Silk” by Arthur Conan Doyle. “The Women on of the Silk Gail” by Gail Tsukiyama. Or just “Silk ” by Alessandro Baricco.

I end my day with gratitude for things which happen smooth as silk. I bless the coconut oil which makes my skin smooth as silk. I wash my child’s hair and comb it into a silken shiny tail. I make my interaction with friends and colleagues of silk for their comfort and my inner peace. I rest in my lover’s strong yet silken arms. Silk is all around! as i discover through my long silken eye lashes.