The Web We Weave

Something scurried across my lower belly, underneath my nightgown, at 5 a.m. one humid July morning. I instinctively brushed the intruder off my skin with the back of my hand, then jumped out of bed and flipped on the light switch. There, in the middle of my bed, sat a big black spider.

I was startled at having been woken up so rudely, but also surprised at my reaction—or non-reaction. I wasn’t scared at all, although perhaps I should have been. The spider could have given me a nasty bite. I grabbed a drinking glass from the kitchen cabinet, caught the spider, and released it into my little flower garden by the front door. A songbird chirped softly as daylight broke. To my disbelief, the rambunctious spider scuttled toward me as I shut the door.

But this spider story doesn’t end here.

After a full day of working, I decided to head for the pool at my complex and go for a swim. I also wanted to enjoy some much-needed relaxation time. After a refreshing swim, I dried off in the warm sun on a white plastic lounge chair as a mother and son played in the water together.

In a loud voice she said, “Hey, Josh, look at this huge spider at the bottom of the pool!”

She managed to bring it to the surface and place it on the cement walkway a few feet from where I was sitting. And yes, it was big and black and looked just like the spider in my bed that morning.

Full stop.

Whenever I experience this type of surreal-like synchronicity—the spider in my bed and the spider by the pool on the same day—I feel as if I’m in a waking dream. It’s as though the rug of my day-to-day “normal” life gets pulled out from underneath me. I feel as if I’m in an altered reality.

Staring at the drowned spider next to me, the thought entered my mind that Spirit was trying to send me an important message via Spider. I decided to meditate when I returned home and call in the Spirit Animal of Spider.

A few long, slow, deep breaths, and I was relaxed. I concentrated on the spider I had seen in my bed that morning and set my intention to have a chat. It wasn’t long before the message came. (With practice and discernment over the years, I have learned to trust my inner voice and feelings enough to know when it’s simply my thoughts and when it feels like a true message.)

“Look at the web you are weaving,” Spider said to me. “Your words and intentions are manifesting in your web of creation and reality.”

I had a sudden realization of what Spider was trying to tell me.

During the past few weeks, I made the decision to create my own ecosystem—or cosmology—for my life based on what I currently know to be true. I had collected a wide range of information over several decades (I’m an information junkie). I had followed many pathways of truth and spirituality that were helpful to me on my journey, but I came to a point last year when I honestly didn’t know what I believed anymore. I felt confused.

In the past, I would try out a new religion, a different healing modality, or a metaphysical teacher, but I wouldn’t stick with any of them for long. I even signed up for Paramahansa Yogananda’s Self-Realization Fellowship course for eight solid months. I loved him dearly, but in the end I realized that the guru-disciple relationship wasn’t my cup of tea.

Over the past year, I have been going through an intense purging and integration phase of my life and have come back home to the core of my being, my soul, and my truth—I’m a mystic.

Last month I felt inspired to create my own cosmology of life—what I want to experience. At its foundation are these core principles: security, fulfillment, peace, joy, freedom, love, harmony, ease, truth, substance, intelligence, and life.

Also woven into this cosmology is the importance of consciously choosing how I want to feel each day: supported, valued, loved, honored, safe, and respected.

I also decided not to give my authority over my consciousness to things I don’t want to feel or experience: stress, discord, pain, lack, war, poverty, or the countless other maladies and negative influences that seem to fill the human experience.

Sitting there, I smiled, recalling a wonderful dream I had about Spider many years ago.

In the dream, I was sleeping in my bedroom, but something was making a racket underneath my bed. I got up, pulled the bed away from the wall, and discovered a giant spider that looked like a double-sized tarantula. It was actively engaged in building a huge web underneath my bed.

The thought came to me that I should kill it, but instead I decided I should talk with it. I already knew that the spiritual symbolism of Spider is closely associated with creation, so I asked what it was making with the web.

Suddenly, a portal appeared—an opening to another dimension. It was around ten feet in diameter and sparkled and swirled like stars in the night sky.

I started thinking about food—a cheeseburger, French fries, and a chocolate shake—and they immediately materialized on the web-portal. They looked cartoonish, yet they were fully three-dimensional.

I laughed out loud as I realized that I was the one creating the scene.

The dream suddenly made perfect sense. Years later, Spider returned—not to teach me something new, but to remind me of something I had forgotten. Every thought, every word, and every intention becomes another strand in the web I am weaving.

What kind of web are you weaving?