Weaving My Life

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Spider in the garden sitting pretty...

     Spider has been trying to get my attention  this past week. It seems that I wasn't paying attention to her subtle and stealthy movements around me so the other night I suddenly awoke from a sound sleep as I caught movement above my bed. Between  the darkness, being half asleep and the fact that I didn't have my glasses on  I saw something seemingly hovering above me but it didn't register until I put the light on. It was a fairly large spider dancing on the end of her silk suspended from the overhead light fixture! She got my attention!

     Then upon reflection  I realized that spider had been spinning about me for at least a week on a number of walks, in books and articles, as well as in the house. I even had unconsciously started wearing my spider ring this past week. Yes. I own a spider ring.  It was my Moms and is a silver Native American ring. It had been sitting in my jewelry box and the other day I must have slipped it on.  I actually have a small collection of spider jewelry; pins, bracelet, earrings, etc.

Spider ring.

     Looking at spider as a symbol it is a teacher of balance. Hm mm. I 've been working with this energy as late. Finding balance between my physical and my spiritual life. Balancing the Divine Feminine and Sacred Masculine energies within.  Finding my own healthy rhythms daily. Maintaining a mindful balance between the past, the present and the future with the thought that I am weaving my life. If you look at a spiders web  there is a central point and it spirals out representing focus and having a goal but at the same time maintaining a balance so that you do not become self absorbed.

 

     

     Spider represents the creative and is a teacher of writing and language, a story teller.  As an artist and writer it is my desire to weave magic into my creations. I also realize that the more balanced I am in other aspects of my life the more my creativity flows. 

     I took a picture of this large web in the woods. The silken threads are so delicate that you can barely see them unless you are positioned just right so that the sunlight glistens on them.

     So thank you spider for weaving your magic and presence into my life. With your help may I weave a magical life.

Comments

Linda 'K' said…
This reminds me of the Anansi stories from Africa. I told you about the life of my Grandmother - Mary Elizabeth (O’Brian) Cera - my mother Vera and Aunt Dolores’ Mother. Like you, she went by her middle name. She was taken out of school by her French-Canadian relatives after both of her parents died of TB - and put to work in a factory by day and to be their kitchen slave the rest of the time. She would teach herself any craft she could find when everyone else was sleeping, starting with crochet. Her slab-work clay vases were a marvel. She was a ladies companion and caretaker later in life after her divorce from my Italian Grandfather. At one of her last jobs as a companion she grew large gourds on the grounds of her employer. She made birdhouses out of the gourds After hollowing them out - that were incredibly beautiful and intricate, making porches and gables out of painted seeds layered like shingles. She cut windows and doorways and painted and edged them all with different viney shapes that she made from newspaper maché and Gesso. They were all works of Art. At one point in Time Magazine in the early seventies she saw an article about Anansi. It showed a picture of a beautiful African woman, the queen of her tribe - who worshipped Anansi. Having little money of her own, she recreated a bust of the woman from the picture in the magazine out of instant maché painted black. Each tiny braid of the hair was perfect, and all were held together high on the head by a large clasp which was Anansi in his spider form. Even though I knew it was made out of paper maché and gesso, it looked like a heavy metal sculpture and when I leaned over to pick it up I almost threw it over my shoulder it was so light. Sadly, none of her amazing work remains as her generation has long since passed and her daughters were too conflicted in their relationship with her to hold on to her pieces. All that is left is a set of three plaid potholders done in thread crochet in my possession, and the large sealed pottery urn that holds her daughters (my Aunt Dolores) ashes after Aunt Del died in 1917 which is kept by Aunt Del’s daughter Nancy. Grandmother Lizbet had a terrible temper - yet she was the only one in a family of talented women who was patient and willing to teach anything she knew. I always wanted to be her student - she was the only one in hour family that believed I had any potential to make things, but due to the temper, time and distance it was never possible. She was known for her beautiful crochet work and no one ever saw her knit anything - yet one weekend when we were alone together she taught me to knit. I’ll be forever grateful.
April 7, 2020 at 3:11 PM
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