Retreat #7: Spider
I dream of a luminous spider. I’m reluctant to explore the dream because I have a phobia of spiders, rooted in a childhood experience. When I was eight, my brothers and I liked to roll discarded tires down our quarter-mile-long driveway, competing to see who could keep their tire upright the longest. One day, without warning, a tarantula leaped onto my hand. It had probably been nesting inside the tire. All I remember is the sight of a spider being where my hand should have been. I don’t know what happened after that—whether I screamed or shook it off or passed out—but the image of a spider replacing my hand embedded itself in my memory.
Despite my repulsion of spiders, the luminous creature from my dream remains with me. Eventually I draw her, adorning her legs with glitter glue. Then I dialogue with the drawing:
Drawing: I am a spider, a purple spider. I am majestic creativity. I come from other realms where life originates. I come from the shining web of creation, and I bring a web of shining creation to you. I’m throwing out millions of light-threads, creation threads, for you to use. Take my strands and run with them, weave with them, spin and string and catch words with them. These gossamer strands are ideas for you. They’re here to catch and hold the sparkling beauty of your spirit until you give it form in a human way. I am spider. I see with full vision. I am infinitely creative, wise and strong. I am you.
Me: Oh, my. And oh yuck. I don’t like spiders.
Drawing: The tarantula leaping onto your hand wasn’t meant to frighten you. It was meant to reveal to you your gift and call. It was saying, “Watch me and learn about yourself.”
Me: Oh my.
Drawing: You are “the woman who weaves”. You are spider by nature: patient, persistent, creative, always resourceful and ever spinning. Observe the spider and embrace your nature. I am about creating and walking your own path. In doing this, you will be healed on many levels.
Me: Thank you so much. I don’t like the idea of watching spiders, but thank you.
When a spider shows up on my window pane later in the day, I know that, despite my aversion, I need to observe it. I place a chair a good distance away from the window and sit down to watch the spider. I peek at it, then look away for a long time, peek again, look away. This is very hard for me, but I repeat the process until I’m able to sit still and watch, my heart keeping a fairly normal beat.
Spider also sits still, a third of the way up the window and a few inches in from the frame. She remains motionless for a long time, letting her food come to her. When she moves, it’s with lightning speed. She seems to be able to see with her entire body. A gnat enters Spider’s range of leap and, bam! The gnat disappears and Spider curls up, devouring it. Spider didn’t crouch before jumping. The single movement she made was the jump. A big gnat keeps wandering out from the frame of the window and then turns back before it gets within Spider’s range of attack. A fly does the same thing. Spider doesn’t stir unless something moves close enough. Both the fat gnat and the fly are big. They look like juicy morsels, but Spider doesn’t waste her energy on prey that isn’t a sure catch. A smart worker, I’d say. At one point Spider takes quite a leap, snags her feast, and then freefalls until an invisible silk rope she’d spun and attached to the window breaks her fall.
I feel a little squeamish about my spider-drawing. Yet it feels very congruent with who I am. Creative. Spinner of words. Weaver of wisdom. I title the drawing “My Essence”, and lean it against the lamp on my bedside table; it stays there for the remainder of my retreat.