I had an odd dream shortly after returning from Patagonia and consciously implementing a loosely "shamanic" approach to what I was doing with wool. I'll spare the explicit details (for dreams are almost always boring in the retelling) but the essentials were that I traveled through ten different dimensions of a Universe made out of wool. The first realm was bright, light and airy. Each subsequent dimension was more densely sculpted than the one before, and of a darker color palette. The final realm was muddy, stormy and torn and I reached into the sky, grabbed a piece of cloud and used it to felt closed a hole in the ground through which the universe was pouring out into a dark void.
It was a few weeks later when I recognized that the colors and increasing materiality of the wool dimensions were much like the ten Sephirot in the Kabbalistic Tree of Life. It was also when it occurred to me that creating "in the Wooliverse" was, so to speak, actually a path of healing for me. I had known "intellectually" that art and magic are healing tools, but I had never "known" it in any truly experiential way at all. Which says a lot for the limits of intellect, huh?