Picture a Spider Web

Picture a spider web, a huge orb web, threads of web radiating out in all directions on a plane from a central point. Picture those threads connected to other threads between them, forming circles, spirals, curves around that centre. Picture the log thread stretching from the central point out to infinity in all directions, an infinite web. Picture the way the light shines through and across those threads, sometimes making them shine like glass, sometimes hiding them from view. Sometimes you see one thread, or three, or ten, sometimes just the part of the web near you. Lift your head, change the angle. You see the whole web sprawling out to eternity in the direction you are looking.

Now picture a spider, an orb spider with eight hairy legs and eight black shining eyes. She sits at the middle of the web, sits at that centre, all the threads radiating out from her. Her eight legs rest across them, the sensitive hairs on each leg able to detect the slightest vibrations from anywhere on the infinite web. With her eight eyes, she looks out across the shining threads, watching for change. Watch her. When she's still, she is the web. Everything that touches it touches her. She feels the slightest breeze, the movement of the branches and surfaces holding the infinite web, every piece of dirt or leaf that lands on its sticky threads. And that insect that lands on it? She knows it's struggles, knows it's not something large enough to run and hide from. She knows it's not inanimate like dirt or a leaf. She knows it's prey, knows what to do with it. She and the web are one. What the web knows, she knows. What the web feels she feels. She is each thread, each junction. She is all.

A thread breaks and she knows, no matter where it is on the infinite web. She moves to that point, knowing where it happened and when, because it is an extension of her. She works quickly to repair it or replace it before the weakness, the unraveling, the damage brings the whole web down. She is a weaver, attaching a new thread, running it over to where it needs to connect. She is a repairman, pulling both ends to herself, lashing thread around a broken thread to repair it. The web is her, if the web is lost, she is lost. She is quick. She is accurate. She is attentive.

Something large hits the web. She knows what it is, or at least that it's not prey, could be danger. She moves across the web, hides at the borders, waits for whatever it is to leave. She knows it is dangerous and that her life is more important. She waits. She is patient. When the web stops moving and she can feel whatever it was is gone, she ventures out to inspect the web.

A part of the web is damaged. Some object or being fell or moved through it. It doesn't matter what. The threat is gone. She begins repairs. Replacing the threads, reforming the web. She needs the web and it needs her. It is a time to rebuild, all else can wait.

The web is whole. She returns to the centre and waits. She feels, she watches. She is the web. She feels something hit the bed, something small, something moving. Prey. She moves quickly, bites the prey inflicting her poison, binds the prey, lets it die. She can feed now as she has time.

Picture a spider web, a huge orb web, threads of web radiating out in all directions on a plane from a central point. Picture those threads connected to other threads between them, forming circles, spirals, curves around that centre. Picture the log thread stretching from the central point out to infinity in all directions, an infinite web. Picture the way the light shines through and across those threads, sometimes making them shine like glass, sometimes hiding them from view. Sometimes you see one thread, or three, or ten, sometimes just the part of the web near you. Lift your head, change the angle. You see the whole web sprawling out to eternity in the direction you are looking.

If you can, picture that web not in two dimensions, a infinite web on a plane, but three dimensional, the guide lines stretching not on a plane but in all directions. Picture the threads connecting all of them, not just on a flat plane. Picture an infinite web in all directions, like the light of a star from its centre, with cross threads connecting each ray.

Now, if you can, picture that web in six dimensions, three dimensional in space but also three dimensional in time, infinite in all directions, not just space as we know it. And picture more dimensions and more dimensions, an infinite dimensions of an infinite number of threads, infinite webs, all one web.

Now picture a spider, an orb spider with eight hairy legs and eight black shining eyes. She sits at the middle of the web, sits at that centre, all the threads radiating out from her. Her eight legs rest across them, the sensitive hairs on each leg able to detect the slightest vibrations from anywhere on the infinite web. With her eight eyes, she looks out across the shining threads, watching for change. Watch her. When she's still, she is the web. Everything that touches it touches her. She feels the slightest breeze, the movement of the branches and surfaces holding the infinite web, every piece of dirt or leaf that lands on its sticky threads. And that insect that lands on it? She knows it's struggles, knows it's not something large enough to run and hide from. She knows it's not inanimate like dirt or a leaf. She knows it's prey, knows what to do with it. She and the web are one. What the web knows, she knows. What the web feels she feels. She is each thread, each junction. She is all.

That spider is you.

FFF,
~Muninn's Kiss