deepwaterwritingprompts:Text: They say Seamstresses begin sewing from birth. While it’s true that we

deepwaterwritingprompts:Text: They say Seamstresses begin sewing from birth. While it’s true that we sew from the first moment of consciousness, by definition we cannot be born.  My first memory is of the needle and thethread. It is the same for all of us, or at least, for all those who I haveencountered.  We are not born, the Seamstresses. We come intobeing. Far to the south, Seamstresses came into being holding threads made oflinen. In the cold north, threads of twisted wool or hair. They came into beingholding needles of wood, or bone, or silver, or iron, or bronze. We come intobeing as the craft becomes, as our people learn the craft that we embody. I am the Seamstress for an ancient people, andmy thread was made of silk. We are not the only ones. There are human skillsthat become Embodied everywhere. In my land, there are five. The Seamstress,the Craftsman, the Historian, the Physician, and of course the One who Cooks. The One who Cooks is the first, in every land. Theyare always the most ancient and powerful, born of the taming of fire, and eventhe gods go warily of them. They are the patrons of farming, for farming alwaysbegins with food, and of hunting, and also of the home and the hearth, wherefood is prepared. The One Who Cooks in my land often wanders among humans inthe form of an ancient woman, watching them but never noticed. The farmer whoshares his crops with her, the innkeeper who gives the old woman a meal, the womanwho opens her home and her hearth to a stranger, will be blessed. The ones whoget it wrong… will not. The One who Cooks is born of an ancient drive forsurvival, and she is not forgiving. The Seamstress is almost always the second. Whenfirst my people sewed furs together for warmth, I came into being, with my ironneedle and silken thread. I taught my people to spin fibers into thread, bredsilkworms for them, and guided them in the creation of our craft. I have takenmany forms over time, and will continue to do so. Sometimes I am a woman, or aman, or a shadow, or a whisper in the ear. In a secret village where magical silkis spun for me by human hands, I am a monster and a guardian. We are separatefrom the Craftsman, for while we are embodied in a craft, we are spun ofsomething deeper. We are the ties that bind, the stitches that link together,the bonds that join one to another. The first ties of kinship are of our tying,and we weave clans out of families, and nations out of single people. We arelove, and duty, and loyalty, as well as the clothes and ropes and shrouds ourfollowers craft.The Craftsman is never born of weapon-craft,though he crafts weapons. He is the child of the One who Cooks, the grandchildof fire. He comes into being with stones in his hands, or a hammer, or a potter’sclay, and he is a crafter of tools. He rarely walks among humans in corporealform, but they find their way to him when need is great. He is always ready forthem when they come, with the magical sword, or the plough that will bring lifeback to barren fields, or the pot that will hold a whole river’s water. Or,sometimes, only with the skill of his hands for the teaching, and that isenough. The Historian begins in pictures on cave walls,or scratched into dirt with a stick. Ours came into being with an ink-brush anda scroll in their hands, writing the word ‘Remember’, though for many longmeasures of time their human children had not yet learned to make ink or words.Artists of all kinds are in their province, as well as those who write words,for every kind of art and recording is at heart the same… it is for memory, andfor understanding. The Historian is often seen but never recognised, thoughtheir works are everywhere, for that is their nature. They are never knownexcept in memories.The Physician in my land wears robes andcarries sharp needles and pungent herbs. The Physician is usually male, here,though not always, and many a wounded hero has known his gentle touch. ThePhysician is never the first, for survival comes before compassion, and yet itis never long before he or she emerges. The Physician is the creature ofcompassion, of caring for one who is not kin, of tending the hurts of othersrather than oneself. The Physician is always and never among humans, for hedoes not assume a corporeal form to walk among them, but grants his gifts andpower to an endless series of chosen humans, who create new ways of caring forthe sick, or the unhappy, or the unfortunate. He never leaves them, and yet isnever seen by them save in the series of human avatars he chooses to bring hispower to the world. He is the patron not only of doctors and midwives, but ofkings and of governments, for whatever is created to serve and better the lotof humankind is his province. And those who betray their duty to heal allsuffer, in the end. The Physician is very patient… but he never forgets. We are not gods, we Embodied. We are the bridgebetween what is human and what is divine. We are created by humans, as Gods arenot, as a way of reaching back towards the powers of creation. The human drivesto eat, to connect, to create, to remember, to heal… they are what we are spunfrom, and what we embody, and they leap ever upward towards knowledge with ourguidance. We speak for them, in the courts of the Gods, and the great human heroesare always aided by us. The Embodied are the ones who craft the magical garments,and tools, and weapons, who tend the terrible wounds and offer words of wisdomat the lowest moments. They usually credit the Gods, but the Gods work throughus, for what is truly divine is too much for mortal flesh to endure. They needmy silk, woven by mortal hands, the Physician’s simple herbs and needles, the knowledgeof humankind as humans understand it from the Historian, the tools and food madefrom the materials of this world, not the other. The five of us meet but rarely, though we arealways aware of one another. We do our work, and are happy in it. But this call of destiny was strong, one of thestrongest we have ever sensed, and so we gathered around the cradle. The One rockedit gently, when the baby stirred, for the first food always comes from amother, and so there is much of the Mother in her making. She looked like anold peasant woman, kindly and weary. “Such a great burden for one so small,”she murmured. “His suffering will be great.” The Physicianwas only a shadow and a whisper, not being in the habit of incarnating. “I willinfuse again – he will need a healer.” The Craftsman was whittling something, hishands busy as they always were. He wore the form of a middle-aged man, soordinary as to be forgettable in moments. “I will return in a few years, toteach him. There are swords all around him, but he is a peasant child, and sohe must craft his own tools.” The Historian nodded, an indeterminate figurein a scholar’s robes. “I will send a teacher to him. He will need to know howto read and write, and to understand the history that created him.” I was wearing a form somewhere between womanand monster, with long clawed fingers and loose long hair and the white skirtsand jacket of a spirit. But I dropped a tiny silk packet into the cradle, alittle charm that would not frighten his peasant parents but which was strongerthan anything they could have bought. “He will have brave allies, and goodfriends,” I murmured, brushing a knuckle over the silky tuft of hair on the topof his head. “He will love, and be loyal, and inspire love and loyalty inothers.” The One nodded. “The Gods have given you aterrible task, little one,” she murmured. “But do not be afraid. We are on yourside, not theirs. All that is strongest in human nature is in us, and we willhelp you.” It is always that way, with great heroes, whichis another word for those who bring change. The Gods may decree as they like… whenit comes to it, the chosen ones are human. And it is the power of theirhumanity that makes the difference, not the will or blessings of the Gods. WeEmbodied, the personification of that power, know that very well. This child will grow up to change his world,and we will be with him, though he will never know it. And if the Gods decreethat he must die to make that change… well. They do it sometimes. But they haveus to contend with when they do. And we will not give him up easily. -- source link

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