Once again I pick up the virtual talking stick to share a story with you, another one of the hundreds of ways we can kneel and kiss the ground. Thank you, Rumi (full poem here).
Although, I have to confess, it's a bit of a stretch to consider kissing the ground in the powerful presence of the Black Widow Spider. For such a small Being she definitely commands great respect.
Most of you know that I practice the annual ritual of vision questing, my way of staying connected to Mother Earth. I call it going to the church of the wild once a year, a time to reflect on the past year and do some praying and visioning for the future. My recent quest experience brought me unusually close to wildness; the kind of wildness that is a sobering reminder of nature's paradoxical way of being both gloriously beautiful and potentially perilous at the same time. She offers restoration on the one hand, and danger on the other. She does so without self consciousness or hesitancy; it's just the way it is.
Three days and nights of fasting and time alone in a Juniper chaparral questing site left me feeling peaceful and still. Things had been deliciously quiet and uneventful up until this time. On the fourth morning I was rolling up my sleeping mattress, when out tumbled a, dare I say, beautiful Black Widow Spider, Latrodectus mactans. The morning air was cold, so she lay there on her back slowly moving her eight legs, giving me a clear view of the red hour glass infinity symbol on her abdomen, leaving no mistake about who she was.
A wash of adrenalin overtook me as I realized she had been tucked in somewhere under where I had been sleeping. I love intimate visits from the natural wild world while on a quest, but maybe not so much this lady spider. It brought me up short with fear, respect and gratitude. We had evidently slept together but kept to our own sides of the mattress. She did not bite me. I did not squish her.
I scooped her up gently with my handkerchief, and moved her to a clump of dry grass, shaking the hankie to be sure she was released. For the rest of that day I moved very slowly and mindfully while packing up my gear and returning to base camp.
When I returned home I made a SoulCollageĀ® card to honor this powerful visitor. I call it "The Kiss Withheld." I then wrote from her voice and here is what she told me.
"Each leg of my body moves slowly, finding the way in small carefully chosen arcs of raising, choosing, and placing a precise step down onto the earth. My parts work independently and interdependently, taking their time, investigating the terrain, noticing what lies before me.
And yet all eight work as one to carry my wholeness on to the next forward movement, then the next and the next. I am the parts and I am the whole.
I move the dark mysterious mound of your story forward. Underneath I hold a treasure, seen only when I am upended, either by my own choice or by the unexpected flow of life's trajectory. You can turn me over to see, but I may curl up and hide secrets from you.
I am a weaver of life. I craft a web of words and stories, making magic out of the mundane. Try to reach for me and I will recoil and pull back into my tunneled web. Watch me with an open heart and I'll show you a perfect dance of weaving and waiting.
Move with me. Let us move the story forward with mindful observation and reverent action. Proceed with curiosity. Lay beside me and let us weave magic together."
Yes, I will quest again, this encounter does not stop me. But it surely makes me more mindful and present with what lies before me.
May you find beauty in unexpected places.
Glenda Goodrich
GG's Down to Earth Studio
