A different kind of web.
Last week, looking out from the attic at the trees outside, I swore I saw, in the flecks of sun catching the light, filaments of the largest spider web on earth.
You’ve maybe had those moments too, when you see, in the light moving along the strands in mid-air, the lines of a web that is suddenly visible.
But . . .from here? How was it possibly discernible from this distance? Was this the strangest, strongest, longest spider web of all time?
Until, shifting my focus to the pond beyond the trees, I realized the fluttering light was dozens of birds, the sun catching their bodies like bits of gold. Not the web of a spider but a different kind of web entirely, alive in movement. Ohhhhh. I gasped in surprise.
I needed the gift of this image.
The day before I had visited dear friends, one of whom is navigating late stage cancer. Sitting with them, I marveled at the stream of family and friends that came through. The bakery owner next door, a high school friend, dad downstairs - all of us tugging at something, trying to find ways to turn our grief into labor or service, to be an offering while we can.
I don’t have words to describe this twizzled up feeling that is the ache of grief and joy and love, when the phrase we are here isn’t an abstraction but an urgent truth.
You might relate to this part too. So many of us are flooded right now by what’s happening in the world, in our homes, in our bodies.
But when I can’t find words or my small human mind starts grasping, I try to remember to listen in this wider way that includes dreams, metaphor, happenstance and the world around me. And sometimes, if I’m lucky, I stumble on treasure.
Because those golden birds were a web, but an unexpected one, showing me something else: We may need to shift our perspective to see what connection looks like from here, to focus not on the fixed lines but the bodies moving, engaged in acts of care and love, the strands only visible when the light is just right.
Exploring further through embodied writing
Perspective shifts can tilt the world from what we knew, bringing possibility to what felt fixed. For this exercise, we’ll play with the subtle body to notice different kinds of focus.
Movement
Begin by closing your eyes and letting them rest. Next, open your eyes and choose an object in the room to focus on (plant, sock, mug - anything will do). Focus all your attention here for a few breaths, then, softening your focus, widen out your attention to include the periphery. Play with moving back and forth from focusing to widening, noticing how the rest of you feels as you subtly shift your gaze.
Write
Staying with this awareness, trying writing into the prompt: When I looked again. . .