I would like to have a room, an empty room.
In the first, warm days of spring, I would open the window and looking at the blue sky, I would listen to the silence, lying on a carpet: an Indian carpet where, framed among abstract flowers and geometrical decorations, a tree of life is in bloom.
From the cold and uninhabitable countries in the far North, nomadic tribes emigrated to milder climates. It took centuries. Long, slow trains with women and children wound through valleys, along rivers and around lakes. They travelled on carts made of wood and leather, surrounded by flocks and led by men who were warriors and horse breeders. The first carpets were probably simple blankets to protect them from a relentless cold. They were the only furniture in their bare tents, the most important possession of a family. On their flat surfaces, patterns and colours that smelled of flowers expressed the magic in life, the inner need of men to understand their place in the universe and feel part of it.
Millennia passed. Powerful dynasties founded towns close to the fertile rivers in the Middle East, with high towers and magnificent palaces, rich gardens and wide staircases. Vertiginous columns supported precious halls echoing different languages, while faithful subjects paid homage to worthy sovereigns with golden gifts. In solemn temples, whispered prayers reached the highest skies. But, indifferent planets and celestial spheres continued their orbits ignoring those cunning kings, in search of broader boundaries for their kingdoms, who burned down the palaces, sacked the temples and destroyed the gardens. Just legends and old patterns, which would become part of elaborated, enchanting Persian carpets, reminded of a distant past. Symbols and decorations combined the severe Islamic tradition with older ones. Flowers and animals, stylized in geometric signs to respect the absolute prohibition to represent natural elements, celebrated the paradise, a heavenly garden made of soft, coloured wool or shiny silks.
From the cold and uninhabitable countries in the far North, nomadic tribes emigrated to milder climates. It took centuries. Long, slow trains with women and children wound through valleys, along rivers and around lakes. They travelled on carts made of wood and leather, surrounded by flocks and led by men who were warriors and horse breeders. The first carpets were probably simple blankets to protect them from a relentless cold. They were the only furniture in their bare tents, the most important possession of a family. On their flat surfaces, patterns and colours that smelled of flowers expressed the magic in life, the inner need of men to understand their place in the universe and feel part of it.
Millennia passed. Powerful dynasties founded towns close to the fertile rivers in the Middle East, with high towers and magnificent palaces, rich gardens and wide staircases. Vertiginous columns supported precious halls echoing different languages, while faithful subjects paid homage to worthy sovereigns with golden gifts. In solemn temples, whispered prayers reached the highest skies. But, indifferent planets and celestial spheres continued their orbits ignoring those cunning kings, in search of broader boundaries for their kingdoms, who burned down the palaces, sacked the temples and destroyed the gardens. Just legends and old patterns, which would become part of elaborated, enchanting Persian carpets, reminded of a distant past. Symbols and decorations combined the severe Islamic tradition with older ones. Flowers and animals, stylized in geometric signs to respect the absolute prohibition to represent natural elements, celebrated the paradise, a heavenly garden made of soft, coloured wool or shiny silks.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25HU0BMeLtfD-s9NlUdndcN-yDiownruG3sm7WY6GZqwLOHAHPaGBTwvpO4DFBAocGz_zA01xUvxLbtddkeicqpTSQHhccCRLgvLi7IgW_RmwLX7scbgdgU5Y6Zd35m-xaqbGMLau778/s200/blog_Thetreeoflife_makingacarpet.jpg)
The symbol of the tree of life is as old as the human beings. Its roots grow tall in the ground, where magic forces are hidden, its branches wave in the air, supported by a strong trunk, linking the earth and the sky, man and God. It is life, harmony and wisdom. It is the powerful strength of nature, its eternal cycle and beauty.
Lingering on the soft, warm surface fragments of thoughts and impalpable fantasies cross the air, like arrows shot by those mighty warriors.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgom8UfQ1z0NtTkkVw3Z1nhYAhsvgxnA3lvF0yplC9-fQiaLekiuYTzUc9v6NlcqZMckAQ5DYHcIoOUwdtN0fUaUgNYkWxV9S4oj7h1zr2nDPAhqTEJvaDhW2Wce1ol8wirYTGbbbZmwTA/s200/blog_Thetreeiflife_indianflowers.jpg)
As the night falls, I would close the window looking at the black sky spotted by lonely clouds. Clouds decorate Persian carpets as ribbons rolled up to the frame and Northern skies as soft, impenetrable blankets.
Further reading:
Persian hystory:
La primavera di Cosroe, Pietro Citati, 2000 Arnoldo Mondadori Editore S.p.A., Milano;
Carpets traditions:
L'Arte del Tappeto Orientale, Taher Sabahi, 2007 by Mondadori Electa S.p.A., Milano;
Il tappeto orientale, John J. Eskenaki, 1983, Umberto Allemandi & C.
Photos:
Travelinagarden
Links:
http://tea-and-carpets.blogspot.com