October 30, 2015

The Weaver


I have a spider living behind the side mirror of my car, passenger side. She's one of those insects with a meaty-thorax. Not that I'm fat-shaming, it just makes her slightly less intimidating than the spindly leg types.

I tried to kill her once. She rolled back between the edges of the mirror and I hit the electronic rotator, wishing her the best in the next life and apologizing for being such an asshole human. She survived and earned my respect. This is a perfect example of how I've opened space in my life for things that make me uncomfortable. Can I allow this? Can I be OK? Plus I figured it was kind of cool to be a Scream Queen rolling with her own creepy crawly.

For many reasons, I have pursued stability and security. I believed in this ideal picture where everything would be known and still and then I would be happy. I would achieve perfection. Life has a very different idea for me.

This has been a year with no safety nets, no assurances. I am occupying the grey areas, living up in the air, trying to breathe through passing moments. It is everything that terrifies me and I have never felt more alive. 

I've been trying to articulate how I could possibly be so happy with all of this insecurity and flux, and then I discovered the perfect passage...
"It must be obvious, from the start, that there is a contradiction in wanting to be perfectly secure in a universe whose very nature is commentaries and fluidity.
But the contradiction lies a little deeper than the mere conflict between the desire for security and the fact of change. If I want to be secure, that is, protected from the flux of life, I am wanting to be separate from life.
Yet it is this very sense of separation which makes me feel insecure."
- Alan Watts, The Wisdom of Insecurity 
We've all heard the cliché bumper-sticker slogans of "change is the only constant," but I had never before considered the experience of uncertainty as the marker of participation, as the very quality of life. This is some Brene Brown lean-in shit.

And I have to admit, my pursuit for something tangible has really been a desire to side-step the experience of life and I have suffered as a result, so has my creative work, my relationships, my daily experience...  it's all connected. Which brings me back to my spider lady friend. Each morning I awake to her masterful creations, only to watch the wind tear it apart by the time we get to work. Each night, she tries again. She expands the web, changes her tactics, she even started building in the direction of the wind. Fucking brilliant little beast. Has she caught anything significant? Hard to tell. Everything is so impermanent, but she continues to create.

She doesn't question whether it's all worth it, if her webs have meaning. She's not likely to survive or mate, but she has opened this human's eyes to the magnificence and beauty of a creative force that lives in even the tiniest of creatures.

There are teachers all around us, if we only take a moment to realize it.
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2 comments

  1. Eloquent. I like it. Impermanence is what I love about life, there are very things that are stable in my life that I value aside from the roof over my head.

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    Replies
    1. Exactly what I am discovering too - the inner security that remains regardless of what is happening around us.

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