Befriending spiders

There was a spider nesting in the eaves of my garage. It hung over the driver’s side of my car. Its bulbous globular abdomen swelled with pockets of eggs; some already lay scattered amongst threads of web.

It, a mother.

Every day I would limbo the web, careful to avoid its sticky entanglement. Every morning and every afternoon I allowed dissonance to crawl through my stomach and over my spine as I tip-toed under the sticky silver threads, retreating to the safety of my vehicle.

I could have squashed her, moved her aside, contained her somehow; but a part of me felt reverence for what she had built. A nest that harboured her children, caught her food, bonded harmoniously with the ever-changing elements to be forged against them.

Over time, I began to accept her. I named her Synthia, Synthia the spider. I learnt to be-friend her and I spoke to her. I asked her not to bite me or land on me.

She never spoke back.

Instead, she feasted on the snared mosquitoes that had irritated my ankles, and sucked dry the flies that peskily hung around.

Day 1.

As I stepped into my first day companioning, I consulted my body. I felt a crawling, tight sensation in my stomach. It moved erratically. Lived experience told me this bodily inhibitor was nerves. Symptoms of its sting presented as blurred vision, sweating, headaches, vomiting, nausea and in extreme cases, paralysis.

As I stood in front of the group, I briefed my notes. All became a blur. The sweating quickly began, followed by nausea. I took a deep breath and felt into what I needed in the moment. An oxygen tonic was required. I began a breathing exercise with the group. I guided them to feel into their arising bodily sensations, bracketing in how the prescription of ‘breath’ acted as a fast remedy. As we breathed together, I became a witness to what was emerging in the moment. I felt a necessity in bracketing out the intention to be ‘perfect’ or ‘liked’ and instead allowed myself to feel into the space, engaging in moment to moment responding, sensing into what was needed. 

I offered for each of us to focus on a moment held within the practice. A feeling or emotion that resonated. I lead the way. Sensing into the vibration of my body I began making. I dived into the humming dissonance, clinging to the materials that crawled and stuck, working with the emergent sensations. As the session neared the end, we shared our expressions. I sat mine on the table. I noticed how it moved, eight long hairy tendrils and two shorter, sharper appendages sprouted from a spherical centre; wrapped tightly in a different, stretchy material.  

Synthia had somehow found her way into my stomach, feasting on the butterflies that danced there.

“Hello Synthia, what are you doing here?”

I questioned.

She spoke.

“I’m here to keep you safe, protect you.”

Synthia didn’t speak again.

Arriving home I felt eager to visit Synthia Spider. I wanted to capture her…in a photo. My phone alerted me to ‘storage card full’ halting my plan, so I spent time looking at her, noticing how she moved, her delicate intricacies.

The following morning, I readily approached her eave. Tattered spindles of web spooled, dormant.

A heaviness hung in my stomach.

Synthia

my friend

had gone.

As time passed, I forgot about the emptiness in the eaves. I no longer had to duck and weave, avoiding the sticky. I began to walk freely.

I’m sure other spiders will visit the eaves again; they may wiggle and jiggle and niggle as they feast on butterflies. But as I learn to befriend them, I learn their purpose; not to hurt, keep stuck or trapped, but to protect.