Lessons Gleaned from Untangling Necklaces
I take an odd (some might say insane) pleasure in untangling necklace chains.
Today’s fixation is a dainty chain with a small silver charm hanging from it. A talisman of sorts, the charm is engraved with the Chinese characters for tranquility. When I reached into my jewelry drawer, the necklace was just where I expected it to be. What tripped me up was the unwearable state I found it in, a messy tangle with two other necklaces.
There’s an art to untangling necklace chains, almost Zen-like in the focused attention it demands. One necklace can be enough of a challenge. The Gordian knot holding the three chains together would be a test of will and patience.
Where do I even begin?
I could easily have chosen another necklace, forget about this mess and go about my day. But I was really in the mood to wear this one. Besides, making another choice would be no more than a delay tactic. Sooner or later, the determination to untangle would call me back. For the record I do not suffer from OCD.
What I do suffer from is abundance. And within that jumble of necklaces was a not-so-cryptic message that accumulation is subtle in the way it creeps up on you. Unlike the books overflowing on shelves or resting in small stacks on tables, trinkets tend to be tucked away. They accrue their very own kind of value, sentimental and otherwise. Newer ones overshadow older ones. Until one day you decide to make an old favorite feel new again.
Only it won’t quite let you. The first step in untangling a chain is to try to loosen the knots, one at a time. This is easier said than done, especially when they’re layered knot over knot over knot. Jewelers have an abundance of tools on hand to make repairs. All I use are a sharpened pencil, a crochet needle, and my fingers.
Holding up the heap, looking very closely, I try to pinpoint where to start poking around. I slip the point of the pencil under a portion of a chain on the circumference of this messy, misshapen ball. If it gives, I can grasp it with the crochet hook, hold it in place, see precisely where it twists against another part of the chain.
Too tightly knotted, it does not give. First stab at this is hardly a cue to give up. There’s an opening somewhere, just waiting for me to find it. Attitude is everything. It’s one thing to feel annoyed that a simple desire is thwarted by something unexpected (trivial as it may seem). Approaching a task like this with annoyance at having to do it is a setup for defeat.
Patience is important. Playing gentle background music can be soothing. Making friends with trial and error is crucial. Soon enough my neck begins to ache from the strain of holding the chains as close to my eyes as possible. I use my fingers to feel for any loosening strands. A little part of a knot frees itself.
Moments of gratification are to be welcomed. They signal a well-deserved break. Soon enough (and without going bug-eyed), I see the puzzle for what it is, a reverse jig-saw in pulling pieces apart instead of fitting them together. Fine chains especially can easily slip from your grasp. They are shapeshifters by no will of their own.
Little by little, the knots unravel, the delicate chains move back and forth, one side loosens, another side tightens, but no real release. I get up, another break, a snack. Returning each time to the task at hand brings a fresh perspective. I am in no hurry.
Two hours’ worth of trial and error suddenly give way to a moment of Zen: Unclasping the ends of each necklace takes them out of the back-and-forth tug-of-war holding them together. Voilà!
A curious mind is a restless mind. But even the mind at rest is restless, unable to easily let go of the monkey playing tricks with it. Some say that ‘monkey mind,’ the Buddha’s term for the busy, overactive mind that plagues us with thoughts, has things to tell us. A student of meditation, what I long for most is to be as present as possible to every waking moment, let the train of thoughts take off on its own more often than it likes to. This is not as easy as it would seem. We fool ourselves if we think we can ever stop the thinking. What we can do is see thoughts for what they are, elusive as they come and go. It’s in the spaces between thoughts that I get glimpses of what a tamed monkey mind feels like.
In my days as a travel writer, a trip to Japan had me visiting a Zen rock garden in Kyoto. For the briefest of moments, as I sat contemplating the raked sand swirling around a handful of asymmetrically placed rocks, I had a freeing sensation that this is all there is — me sitting on a bench in a setting as serene as it gets, a stone wall enclosing the garden, a very blue sky above. No thoughts of yesterday, no worries about tomorrow.
A visit to Machu Picchu brought a similarly profound experience of timelessness. This was back in the seventies. There were no luxury hotels near the ruins. Getting there involved taking a three-hour train ride from Cuzco, spending a few hours exploring the ruins, then leaving. There was a ten-room inn at the top of the ruins and I was one of the lucky ones (being a travel writer helped) to book a room and spend the night. The rainbow arcing across the sky just before dusk is imprinted in my memory. Walking the ruins in early morning before the tourist train arrived was the gift of a lifetime.
Is it possible, I ask myself, that the way in which I welcome the chance to untangle necklaces, and the satisfaction it gives me, has been a kind of setup, maybe even apprenticeship for sitting meditation and the awakening it promises to bring?
Is it possible, too, that this particularly knotty mess of mine is a byproduct of the year we all lost something, some of us more than others? Putting aside occasional, seemingly safe get-togethers with friends in the early days especially, why bother getting all dressed up with nowhere to go? Let the trinkets sit, maybe tarnish from disuse or dance the twist in their boxes anytime they’re jostled. Save the high heels for another time, hoping that too many days wearing sneakers or slides will not keep those pretty Pradas from feeling as good as they did when you wore them more regularly.
Value is relative — one person’s junk is another person’s treasure. Nor is what I think of as abundance a fixed notion. It is not something I take for granted. It can change at any time, the world being in such a precarious state. Knowing this only heightens my need to do what I can for those truly in need. It deepens the gratitude I feel, abundantly so, for family and friends I hold dear.
Grief can be a portal to gratitude. Anger does not have to tie you in knots. I live on the outskirts of a charming exurban town an hour north of New York City. In the darkest days of the pandemic, I could take daily walks on quiet roads without feeling the need to wear a mask. Not that breathing freely kept me totally free of the anxiety and anger and sadness about what was all around. If I was not comfortable enough to venture into the city for a best friend’s 70th birthday, I could send her something. I visualized a brushed silver necklace I’ve always taken great pleasure in wearing, bold in its geometric design, gracing her neck. And with it, a matching pair of earrings.
