I was strolling to work on a clear blue morning entertaining the idea of a career change when out of nowhere a shiny black spider surfed the wind toward me and landed on my chest. It had come straight at me, teetering in the air like a light plane over a windy runway. I knew it was meant for me. And I kinda wished it had’ve been a butterfly.
The spider was around the size of a 20-cent coin. I couldn’t feel it on me. It made no sound, yet it rocked me to the core. I wish I could say I had the presence of mind to watch calmly what it did once on my chest – to take a moment to let it “speak to me” – but I freaked out at its first movement and brushed it off with such fervour I think I squashed it. I felt terrible. I’d killed the messenger.
That’s the usual reaction to spiders – or to pretend they’re not there, unless they’re huge. But I had become aware of spiders crossing my path more than usual for weeks, and was getting the feeling someone was trying to tell me something. A little black one had taken to darting across in front of the television each evening. A “daddy long-legs” clung to the corner of my shower. Microscopic ones kept tickling my arms, stumbling over the hairs as I sat reading at the patio table. My heart convulsed the once I looked down to see a grey hairy one on my thigh – about the width of my thigh!
Ancient indigenous cultures which recognise that humans, animals and all of nature are of the same energy – or are related in Spirit – recognise also that our siblings in the animal world can share Mother Nature’s wisdom with us through metaphoric messages. Grandmother Spider is part of Native American creation myths. She is the Weaver of Life and the Weaver of Dreams. She speaks of our ability to contribute to the web of life, and to weave our own lives to our own design.
Quiet as she was, spider had medicine I needed.
Victoria Collins. Published in Nature and Health magazine, April 2009.
