Friday, August 14, 2009
Just two nights ago, my husband, Gregory, and I watched a spider in our kitchen window for almost a whole hour as she set the table and prepared to enjoy her dinner. After dinner, she had a friend over for a visit. As Gregory and I watched, out of nowhere, another spider appeared in the darkness. Apparently it had built it's very own web connected to the gutters and side of our home. We watched as the spiders touched belly to belly, top legs touching one another while the rest of their legs tapped a morse code of communication into the night. All of a sudden, they melded into one and you couldn't tell that what you were looking was a spider, let alone two. After a while, their legs slowly came apart. The lady spider retreated to her corner in the window and we haven't seen the male spider since.
As of late, spiders have been attracted to me like the ocean waves seek the shore. Aside from all the various fruit spiders inhabiting little corners of my home, I have four spiders living in the corners of my bathroom, and one very large, very beautiful spider living right outside my kitchen window. My daughter even spotted one camoflauged in the rug at the doctor's office the other day.
For almost 3 years now I have been in the process of dismantling a paradigm that no longer works for me - well, more like shattering it. I've broken it apart, but the pieces of it keep hanging around my psyche. Every once in a while, the light that is cast over the new paradigm I'm in the process of building, bounces off the broken pieces of the old one; forcing me to look at a generations old belief that no longer feeds my soul.
Pieces of it are still food for thought. I pick up that particular piece, examine it with much scrutiny and decide whether or not I can discard that piece or use it in a new creation. And so, I weave my very own web. A web that I depend upon to protect me from the ravaging winds of life. A web that feeds the hunger in my soul. A web that fosters the creation of all the things that make life juicy.
There's something fascinating about starting over again - disconnecting the corners of the old web, wrapping it gingerly around the newest tasty morsel, retreating to safety, and reemerging to build a newer, even more beautiful web with which to catch the livingness of life.
For several evenings I have watched the spider in our kitchen window as she eats her dinner. She unhooks one corner of her web and wraps it around her meal, unhooks another corner of her web and wraps that around her meal and so forth. Until what's left is a skeleton of a web that she will use to construct a new web.
There is something so interesting about feeling fascinated and terrified, both at the same time...