Today we’ll talk about the powerful medicine of the spider in the process of spiritual ascension. It’s gonna be a good one! Check it out below:
I weave my web from the inside out, starting with the artisanal – almost morbid – unraveling of what ties and imprisons me in an invisible straitjacket. I sing to release the thread and scream to spit out hooks. Hold my breath not to speak and retreat into brutal spinal curvature to protect myself.
I try to digest and process the masses and slugs that tire and hold me back. They cling to the walls of the stomach to avoid transformation. I give up. Try to live stagnant. But a muffled scream desperately fights to have sound and pass through the tight edges of my borders.
I start to suffocate and, with my hands on my throat (as if it made any difference), I writhe on the floor in a desperate attempt to get out and get rid of myself. Of the walls, guards, and infinite ramparts I created not to be seen, and of the pain that consumes my heart for not being able to be who I was born to be. Abruptly asking God: “What did I do to deserve this?”
This forcing pushes things, bothers, demands resistance, and expels what doesn’t want to come out. Pure survival instinct. Something cracks, and from that fissure comes light that my body refuses.
Suddenly, I am a lantern in dark alleys. I know the way, eyes closed. I take a step without knowing the next, in a courageous surrender of someone who trusts without knowing.
I plummet in unique free falling and scream hysterically until I vomit all the excesses to gain time before hitting the end. Without ballast, I flap my wings as a final resort. Time runs out, and I die with the impact of the bottom of the pit.
Nothing.
I see something luminous and awaken from the deep sleep shattered, therefore, open. I flap my wings and take off towards what I desire. I sing my way and weave – with the gap in between my legs – the homogeneous, perfectly geometric web of someone with a beginning, middle, end, everything, and nothing.
The web of someone who walks through life with love and loneliness. Sometimes accompanied, often hobbling, but with less and less baggage because “God shall provide for those who incorporate Him.”