Wove a Web of Creativity for Me

The summer that Henry came to stay at my house was loaded with potential. I’d hatched several long-term projects and was bringing them to fruition. Everything seemed to be falling into place. It was as if I were about to catch a plane or train and all I had to do was to show up. Henry was a spider who had built a web in my picture window. I decided to look up the word spider in my animal books. According to lore, the spider is mythologically responsible for having brought about the written word. “Spider” is supposed to have created the primordial alphabet that replaced petroglyphs. Ancient symbols can be seen in the angles of a spider’s web. I also read that the spider had helped to weave the dream of creation.

Reading about the spiritual purpose of the spider caused me to start connecting this current phase of my life with Henry’s presence. It was as if we were somehow working together. My projects had to do with spreading and recording the word. Henry’s appearance confirmed for me that I was on the right track. I believed that it was no coincidence Henry came into my life when I’d entered a highly creative period. By the end of the summer, this spider had helped me to become more successful in achieving my goals.

Watching that spider was like being a child and having an ant farm again. Every morning I drew the drapes and said hello to Henry, who would almost certainly be snuggled up in the corner under his silk lean-to. I’d examine his web to see if he’d repaired it during the night. I began to notice that he fixed it up about every three days. Everyone in the neighborhood thought I was crazy to let a spider and a fairly large one at that, hang out on the front of our house. But they came to know that no one had better harm one strand of Henry’s web. He was a real hit with the kids, and I was comic relief for everyone else as I told stories about Henry’s exploits and what I was learning from him. It was always interesting to watch Henry nimbly spin prey with his front legs while wrapping it with his two back legs using the sticky substance that came from the silk ducts in the back of his body. Tread that a one-inch rope of spider silk can hold up to seventy tons and is three times stronger than the same size of iron rope. Pretty amazing.

Henry doubled in size that summer. I was fascinated by the most incredible design he had on his back. I’d watch him work with what looked like black and shiny fangs. He kept them tucked under his chin, using them like pincers. Henry simultaneously enthralled and repelled me. But I grew to love that little eight-legged creepy-crawly.

He taught me lessons I never expected to learn from a spider. I learned an important life lesson from Henry when a leaf blew into his web. He scurried to seize it, render it immobile, and wrap it up for a midnight feast. The only problem he had was finding a place to start wrapping. I watched as he went over and over that maple leaf. He probed every contour and notch with his front legs and fangs. Tenaciously, he moved all around the edges of the leaf, down the stem, then up and around, again and again. Finally, he gave up on being able to package the leaf for a later meal and returned to his corner.

Since spiderwebs are very sticky, I guessed that poor Henry would have to blast that leaf out somehow, then spend all night darning the resulting hole. It was only a few minutes later when I noticed that the leaf had vanished and Henry was snoozing quietly in his corner.

In a very balanced move, after he’d done his best, Henry just left the leaf alone and let nature take its course by blowing it away from him. I thought about Henry and the leaf the next time I became confused. Like Henry, I persisted until I was satisfied that no more could be done, then I returned to my corner knowing that the universe takes care of such things. Yes, indeed.

One evening I noticed that Henry wasn’t in his web! Panic-stricken, I leaped onto our couch for a closer look. Sure enough, Henry was gone. I called my husband, as if he could do something. I frantically scanned the windowsill for signs of Henry. Thankfully, there he was, groping along the windowsill acting stunned, not his agile self. I couldn’t bear to watch, so I closed the drapes and hoped for the best. About five minutes went by and that silly spider was back in his web. It must have been spider luck. That was the beginning of the end of Henry’s visit. Autumn was nearing and the weather became colder. Then one day, not too long after he’d fallen, Henry left his web in tatters. We never saw him again. His lean-to way up in the corner of the window remained throughout the winter. I’d have taken a broom after anyone who disturbed it. I don’t know what happens to spiders during the winter, but I guess that Henry crawled down to Mother Earth, where he covered himself for his final nap. I often remember the special summer Henry came to stay. And how he worked with me in his spider way to weave a web of creativity where I could dream my dreams.

Meditation Are there angel animals (and insects) who could show you how to tap into your own creativity? Could they be as close as your backyard or window?