The spiders are crowding the walls with thin, wickedly long legs. They move mechanically, and start to crawl on me. The creepy ticklishness gives my flesh a fright, but of them, I am not afraid. The language of spiders is ancient and symbolic, and the tapestries they construct are deeply intricate. In this dream I can fully understand their language and they can understand mine. They are allies in my home, “Agathos Daimon”, wise and protective and as powerfully potent as their venom. They are Death on eight legs. But Death is the doorway to the Otherside.
I honour the eight- legged gods. They are more than just symbols of our subconscious and shadow self, they are the creators of these spaces, and asking audience of them is not only respectful but integral to navigate the darkness.
I dance with frenzy in honour of the Spider Gods who make my home theirs, and I sew my quilted heart pillow. Spiders teach us to live from the “center”, as their own silken thread is produced inside their bodies. The spider sits in my Heart Center, balancing all, calling me back to the dark wildness that hums with each plucking of the threaded web in my veins.
“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I’ve a many curious things to shew when you are there.”
– Mary Howitt, 1829
“Oh Yes, Yes I Shall…”