Spiders in August
Evidently my morning newspaper had lain outside long enough for a small wanderer to hitch a ride indoors. After some clever maneuvering with a glass and a piece of paper for a lid, I tossed her back outside to her own spidery world.
Then, if I was going to be consistent, I felt I had to offer the same option to the other common, smaller eight-legged denizen who had appeared in my bathroom sink a few moments earlier.
I have an agreement with bathroom spiders. Stay out of the bathroom. Period. You do not belong here and I cannot rescue you once the shower starts. Should you choose to insist on being in my bathroom, you will likely end up departing into spider heaven.
If it’s any comfort, shortly thereafter, you will likely have the opportunity to go on to your next incarnation. That fate is not my preference for you, but a bathroom is a very inconvenient place from which to expect to be rescued. So, if you want to keep this life, stay out of my bathroom. It’s simple. It’s my rule.
However, since I was already in rescue mode, I let go of the rule. With glass and paper in hand, I gathered the small one up and tossed her into the fresh air on my patio. She, unlike the garden spider, likes to be inside as well as anywhere. I don’t have much confidence that she will make it through the day—but, I say to myself, her chances were even slimmer in the sink.
Earlier, I had padded outside in slippers and pajamas to gaze at the garden in its fresh morning ecstasy. Several impressive webs were up and functioning amongst the jungle of tomato vines. I love to be wowed. Give me an early morning web with a beautiful fat garden spider in the center, and I will be more patient with your bad driving later in the day.
But this morning, only the smaller girls were in their webs as the old fat ladies squatted underneath the tomato leaves nearby—undercover web watchers. I noticed the little hairy jumping spiders taking care of business with the zucchini vines. Maybe, I thought, the organisms causing wilt and the jumping spiders are connected. Maybe my jungley garden is perfectly harmonious in its own way.
Somewhat disappointed and still wishing for a really impressive spider, I shuffled back inside to make breakfast. My wished-for spider arrived more personally, exuberant and unexpected, making her own headlines in my world. Getting my full attention as only a large spider in full view of a unclad woman can do. Probably a message bringer, I thought as I recovered.
In Native American lore, Spider Woman weaves the worlds and teaches the people the alphabet and language. She is a totem for writers, poets, artists and mystics. I’m taking her message as an urging to get back to writing—to let the web of life be rewoven through my words today. That’s nice. I can do that. You can do that.
So, cheers to all you web-weavers out there, at computers, meditating, dancing, healing—or on tomato vines—as together we build the more beautiful world our hearts know is possible.*
*From the book The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know is Possible by Charles Eisenstein