Lesson’s from “Grandma”
Pay attention!
(WARNING: Arachnophobes beware of spider pictures!)
I’ve been keeping tabs on a garden spider in my backyard over the past few years. She disappears for months on end, only coming out during the spring and fall. I know she’s the same spider because I’ve watched her grow to become one of the largest I’ve ever personally witnessed. Her markings are distinctive and bright, announcing her presence quite loudly.
I’ve taken to calling her “Grandma” because, well, I assume she’s got to be quite old for a spider by now. She also seems to be very conscientious, as she never spins her webs in areas that anyone traffics, although she does get quite close. Her webs are beautiful and thick, sometimes appearing almost like wool in places. She also shows quite a bit of wisdom and intelligence in the placement of her webs. Her current hunting ground is ingenious. Her web is posted up in the corner of the house near the outdoor light. Very close to the back door, but again, not so close as to have it be torn down every time we walk outside.
This is the same area where I’m often out in multiple times a day to smoke in the private oasis of my courtyard. I welcome her presence and company on my smoke breaks, often with a greeting of “Hi Grandma! How goes the hunt?”, as she silently bobs to vibrations induced by me closing the door. I know of and have seen spiders that announce their presence by causing their webs to swing wildly when something gets too close. I don’t get that sense from her. If she is announcing her presence, it’s a gentle wave, as she may be mildly accentuating the vibrations in the wall from the door closing.
The other night, my wife and I bore witness to a spectacle that I’ve personally never seen before. I’ve never seen a spider go on the attack when prey has gotten caught in its web. It was exhilarating, action-packed, and admittedly slightly terrifying. Allow me to set the stage…
Occasionally, my wife will join me on my smoke-outings. I’ve given up cigarettes, but can’t quite put down the smooth and calming aromas of a Black and Mild cigar. Nor do I really want to at this time of my life, but I do know a time will come when I will be motivated to quit even this small, cancerous luxury. This particular night, like most times when she joins me, our tiny forever-pup Libby (7lbs and 10 years old) joined the pack outside.
While we were enjoying the smoke and Libby was sniffing out all of the “intruders” of our space (our courtyard is frequented by feral neighborhood cats and possums), we heard a loud buzzing and crack against the wall. I’m accustomed to hearing this when cicada’s decide to descend from their tree perches, attracted to the backyard light. They really are quite noisy creatures! But this time, it wasn’t a cicada, it was a large dragonfly, almost equally as large as Grandma.
The dragonfly was obviously disoriented and out of its element, desperately struggling to find some light to guide its way through the dark. Yet once it did find a light, it didn’t know what to do with it. It thrashed around, slamming head first into the wall and onto the ground pavement, unable to be still. It was thrown into even more disarray as curious Libby began “playing” with it, snapping and pawing at the beautiful scared creature as it struggled to find a safe place to land. Watching this scene play out, I knew in my heart what the logical conclusion was going to be. I scarcely got the words out of my mouth, “It’s going to fly into that web”, before it indeed flew into Grandma’s web.
Normally still, the speed at which Grandma moved was terrifyingly efficient and hasty. Within a fraction of a second of impact, she was on the dragonfly. First, she moved to web and subdue its chittering wings. Then, bite; then continue to weaving its death cocoon. The battle lasted only a few minutes, but it had been won and lost (depending on your perspective) before it even started. Driven by fear, the dragonfly found its demise in Grandma’s web. Anchored in stillness, Grandma found a large and well-deserved tasty feast.
(For those with a stomach for it, my wife posted a video of the battle to her Instagram account!)
A day passed as I watched Grandma savor her meal. The shimmering, iridescence of the dragonfly’s wings the only reminder of the beautiful and free creature it once was. The rest of its body had been encased in webbing and was slowly being drained of its animating ichor. The morning after the day of feasting, I walked outside to find Grandma diligently re-spinning her web. I found the death cocoon on the ground beneath the web, wings still gleaming a rainbow of colors. Grandma had severed it from her web and let it fall back to the earth where all heavy things must find their rest. By the end of the day, her web had been rebuilt and she reclaimed her throne in the middle.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
These are the lessons I learned from Grandma over these past few days:
- Spin your web. Then be still.
- When you are still, remain aware of all of the vibrations that life sends reverberating through your web. Very few require your action. The majority are none of your concern.
- When the moment of action arises, you will know. Be ready to strike. Be ready to fight. Most of all, know that the fight has already been won.
- After the fight, enjoy the rewards. Savor them. They are gifts.
- Be thankful for your gifts.
- Do not over-indulge. When the gift has been depleted, cut it loose and let it go.
- After the fighting and feasting, don’t waste any time to diligently rebuild your home.
- Once your web has been re-spun, reclaim your space in the center and be still again. The next gift will come when it comes. All you must do is wait and be ready.
- It is fear that spurs disoriented, frantic action. This type of action causes us to not pay attention, to not be aware of the vibrations in the web of life. This type of action will only lead us into the spider’s web and to our deaths.
- PAY ATTENTION!
- Wei-wuwei, action through inaction. The way of the Taoist master.
Thank you, Grandma!
