Weaver of Dreams

After a few days of hot weather, Spider has been busy weaving her web across almost every pathway in my garden. They are small, yet, the webs...the Spiders who make them are still young themselves.

But those webs are still sticky enough to get caught in my glass frames, in my hair and every place on my body that touches them. And most times, there is a passenger in the figure of Spider that catches a ride to wherever I'm going.

Usually, this doesn't bother me. I will brush off the insect; I am not afraid of these wondrous eight- legged beings. After all, my life path number is an 8...

It is when Spider tries to get my attention by inflicting a bite or two on my person, when enormous Spiders show up, right in my path, when Spider webs become too numerous to ignore...this is when I know Spider is trying to send a message.

Sometimes, when a message or portent shows up, I ignore them. Sometimes, I just get plain tired of deciphering the many messengers that herald transformation, change and miraculous rebirth. And sometimes, there is fear inside of me...if I ignore these missives, perhaps I can, somehow, still deny them...

But Spider, now...Grandmother Spider manifested the World, when she wove the dream of the physical reality. Spider is the weaver of words...the writer's totem.

Was I going to ignore and deny Grand- mother Spider?

I don't think so.

There are many Spiders around just now, everywhere. Usually, I am not terribly cognizant of them...they are just there.

But now I was remembering each and every encounter...they were becoming extraordinary, in a world of many.

I remembered Grandmother Spider's mantra...create, create, create. She reminds me I am infinite, that I will continue to weave the patterns of life throughout eternity, that this life is only a drop in the limitless Universe.

When she took a chunk out of my leg, she was insistent I listen. There were opportunities arriving that I was going to miss, if I did not become more aware of what I was trying to create. If I forgot, before life's involvement got in the way, that I was creating a new phase in my life.

But I felt there was more.

I asked Spider for a dream, at night before I drifted off to sleep. I asked every night for a few days...and then the dream appeared.

It was a good one. I was in a golden Wheat field, with a vast deep blue Sky and billowing, silver-rimmed Clouds drifting across Sun. I was warm, almost a prickly warmth...the kind of sensitivity that occurs just before perspiration breaks. Wind's presence was barely detectable.

The World hummed along. No civilized sounds broke the silence...only a deep, abiding thrum of energy waves. I was barely breathing, it seemed I did not have the same urgency to breathe as normal beings do.

I was surrounded by the Wheat, standing straight and tall...it seemed I was looking up at the seed heads. And I noticed the fine webbing, touching each and every stalk of Wheat. Some of the webbing was thicker in places than others. Some were finer. But they were all connected, a few obviously mended...but on the whole unbroken...a perfect, intricate web.

I could not move. I could not make a positive move in any direction. That prickly sensation intensified if I tried. I felt bound and very limited, rather resentful...and yet, there was acceptance, too. Here is where I found myself; this was a phase in my life, as well.

Spider appeared, swinging and weaving from place to place, amongst the long, golden stalks of Wheat. She was very tiny, a pinprick of shimmering light at the head of her string.

Petulantly, I asked Grandmother Spider why I couldn't move. I had no fear of her; rather, she annoyed me...what was the point of all this?

I heard a throaty chuckle... a deep in the woods kind of sound...and the words, which echoed and swirled around me, like a whirling storm...

Bound and tied, Grandmother Spider said with glee, Bound and tied.

My sulky behaviour disappeared. Fear reared up instead. Grandmother was giving words to a scarcely heard voice in my soul, one that had been denied an audience.

The acceptance of my place in the scheme of things kept the fear at a manageable level. Intrinsically, I understood I was in a dream, that Grandmother Spider, no matter in what way, was giving me a gift. It was my choice whether I would accept her offering.

Resentment at being tied faded away...instead, I decided to find creative means to overcome the hurdles and boulders appearing in my way. And perhaps, some of the ties were of my own making.

Suddenly, I was regarding the Wheat field from above, seeing a shimmering golden sweep of colour that melted into the distant horizon. I watched Grandmother Spider spinning, spinning her Web, her story, until she and the field became one.

I was hot, when I awoke. The days had been most uncomfortably warm; the house had not cooled by Ocean breezes during the night. I went outside, and sat on my stoop. The town chimes rang...4 AM.

The prickly heat sensation disappeared in the breeze that finally appeared. I thought about my limitations and resentment of them, that I had applied to myself. I thought about Grandmother Spider and her words and what they meant to me. Entanglement in the web of my life is strictly of my own choosing; it has little to do with others or circumstances when I place them there, all by myself.

Instead of feeling angry, perhaps I can change my outlook into a more creative one, one where I find joy and movement, instead of stagnation and sadness.

And an outlook where I feel gratitude, instead of disinterest and annoyance, to a totem as powerful as Grandmother Spider, when we meet, would be something I might try to cultivate.

Grandmother Spider, after all, is the Weaver of Dreams, making those Dreams a reality...and she is very worthy of respect.