Yesterday I awoke to find a spider had spun its web in front of the door to the patio. It had suspended its gossamer world between a coffee maker and the door lintel in such a way that when I swung open the door, the spider–resting in the very center of its creation–was unperturbed and the web held.
It took my dog, Leela, walking inadvertently through the web to destroy this little spider’s home-base. She was the perfect height for destruction.
Spider was fast. She rappelled down to the floor and then zoomed a new line just like Spider Man to the top of the door. I was left feeling awe for her resilience, compassion for her innocence. She had built her place of refuge and nourishment in an unsafe space-time co-ordinate. Ironically, and laughably, she did not trap a fly, but rather attempted to net a 60 pound German Shepherd.
My dog Leela was named the same Sanskrit word that means “a way of describing all reality, including the cosmos, as the outcome of creative play by the divine absolute (Brahman).”
In my kitchen that morning, the play of God was a tragi-comedy starring a spider and a dog. And the observer…me.
Nothing I encounter is ever without meaning. Alone in my kitchen, barely awake and making my morning coffee, this was my first interaction with the manifest world. Just like when I dream at night, I choose to be lucid in my life. I choose to see that all happenings are reflections of my own creation, a story unfolding in each moment. A story that is not just random, but gorgeously divinely inspired.
So I looked a my spider episode and asked: Where do I need to find compassion for another today? Do I need it for myself? Am I the resilient one in the face of a clumsy destruction? Or has someone else blundered into a web of meaning and destroyed it?
It was only after the spider web dialogue with the universe that I opened up my laptop to discover I was the target a friend’s anger. That something I had written to this person a few days ago, had ignited a protest (a thinly veiled public one and a volley of private messages).
And I saw at once how the spider, the web, the dog Leela, that moment of sudden unravelling, was a premonitory metaphor for what was to unfold minutes later. And so allowed compassion for my predicament to be present. And compassion for the other, who lashed out in pain and reaction.
And most surprisingly, there was no need to rush to restore anything…spider will rebuild her creation elsewhere. It’s is not mine to recreate.
I wrote this poem a few years ago, featuring spider. It seems appropriate today, to share it.
Did you know? Something good
is always trying to happen,
even when a loose thread unravels
the whole of existence, or one snag
in the dreamtime becomes a gap
in the fabric of your plans?
I walked through a web one morning,
a shimmering creation that spider
had spun right over my door,
placed so that when I crossed the threshold
I tore right through all the hard work,
all the nights weaving, leaving
a hole in my path.
And in a certain light, I knew
that this was not a destruction
but a way through to something,
that my clumsy passage had left
a possibility–in my wake,
trying to happen.
Dec 17, 2009
Awareness is here, weaving her story,
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8 thoughts on “A Spider, a Dog named Leela and a Meaningful Dialogue with the Universe in My Kitchen”
We as part of human species are caged by the same rules that governs any other species. Fittests survive and weaklings are sidelined in every areas.There are huge pressure on being an effective evolutionary display among us.You say something glorious is always trying to happen, but where is the justice in all of the these.Its cruel.Not bad but cruel.I want to hear your views.
Lori Ann Lothian
Back at ya. Any chance you are free to talk.
It’s interesting watching you go through what I’ve come to see as a pattern: Mental awakening (Bang!), the Trials (the old ways no longer working (hat tip Adya)), and then the gradual Heart opening (Love/Integration). It’s taken me six years and I’m still integrating it all. I do wish you’d go into more details about your trials (omitting names of course), as I’m sure everyone could learn a thing or two (being Perfect doesn’t mean we’re perfect). Blessing Lori Ann. Thanks for sharing.
Lori Ann Lothian
Yes yes yes! The heart is where my unfoldment is now…And yes, I can share more of my trials. Thanks for reminding me that I am a person not a perfection.
“Just like when I dream at night, I choose to be lucid in my life. I choose to see that all happenings are reflections of my own creation, a story unfolding in each moment. A story that is not just random, but gorgeously divinely inspired.”
Lovely, thank you. My closest companion on my soul walk died suddenly this past week. Like you, I choose to see that all happenings are reflections of my own creation, and still the waves of grief roll in like those in the ocean in which he died. Some days are more difficult than others while we wait to see what comes next.
Lori Ann Lothian
Jo. I am no stranger to loss and grief. My only suggestion is to allow the sadness, the missing-ness, to roll through — sometimes like thunder, sometimes a soft rain. Grief is in the heart–not the head, not the solar plexus. It is aligned with love. And it passes.
Namaste and thanks.