Spiders are extraordinary weavers of webs. They know the art of sacred geometry and purposeful design. They are the makers of the fibers which are used to make the webs. And a few years ago, I learned even more about the mystery and magic of Spider’s ways.
As the sunset painted the clouds purple and red, a long-legged spider crawled out from the shadows and began to weave a web. The spider looked otherworldly with her sleek round brown body and eight highly arched striped legs. She was a skilled acrobat, moving about with great agility. Intrigued, I spent much of the evening watching her.
The spider initiated her weaving by free-falling from the porch rafters. Suspended on a shimmering thread, she hung upside down and glided closer and closer to the ground. She came to land on the very tip of a blade of grass. There she attached a grounding cord, anchoring her web to the earth.
She crawled back up the thread and stretched fibers out in all directions, expanding the framework like the rays of the sun. Returning to the center, she circled around and around, steadily moving further outward, making a spiral.
The spider wove her web with the very fabric of her being. She generated the fibers and then knitted them together, forming patterns, shapes and lines into an integrated whole. Guided by the ancient blueprints she carried within, the spider’s focus was unwavering as she weaved.
When her elaborate design was complete, hours had passed. The moon had risen, the stars filled the sky, and the spider sat in the center of her grand tapestry. The glistening threads were sticky, the web’s geometry magnetic, all designed to attract and to hold what was nourishing for her.
Later that night, I couldn’t get to sleep. I finally got out of bed and made my way through the dark house, irresistibly drawn back outside by some mysterious calling. Wrapped up in a blanket, I laid down in the hammock, gently swaying as I watched the spider ride the waves of the breezes fluttering through her web.
Early the next morning, as the sun began to rise, I was abruptly awakened out of my sleep. There at eye-level, right in front of my face, was the spider swinging back and forth on a shimmery thread.
How had this small silent creature called me out from my sleep?
What was it she wanted me to see?
I sensed Spider was waiting for me to wake up. Then she crawled back up the thread and somersaulted into her web. Glistening fibers broke apart. Delicate threads came undone. The elaborate spiral imploded as the bottom half of the web collapsed in on itself.
With her spindly striped legs, the spider deliberately took apart the rest of the web she’d created just hours before. Then she crawled away into the rafters, retreating into the shadowy crevices between the wooden beams and peeling bark. She didn’t reappear until evening. Then, simply and naturally, she once again began to weave.
I spent days enchanted by the spider’s dance, waiting for her arrival at sunset, watching her weave ornate tapestries, marveling at her ingenuity and artistry. But the long-legged spider didn’t only weave webs. She also took them apart.
She lived with unshakable clarity that she had what she needed to manifest what she wanted when the guidance from within and the rhythms of the earth indicated it was time.
Weaving and unweaving.
Building and taking apart.
Rebuilding and reweaving.
Our spiraling dance with life.