in order to make a knot you must turn something in upon itself. we are the small catches in body and time. god is the infinite which bends toward itself and intricately blossoms us.
before we are tied into existence god lays his kiss, a sweet little moth of gore, at the center of each knot, a delicate wound to tie around.
in our living we are drawn along the line toward that which will heal us. we flutter toward light and love. we do not understand that we will only fully be healed when we are undone and absorbed once again into the infinite.