Spiders Blessing

{collective prophetic weaving}

The young woman navigates a winding, narrow river in a timeless flow. The dense rainforest surrounding the flowing water makes it difficult for her to see beyond the river's banks. Standing up in a canoe, she continues upstream, paddling hard. There's an almost unnoticeable divert to a smaller tributary; she manoeuvres the canoe around with agility. A few metres later is a secluded lake fed by a massive waterfall on the other side of the entrance. The abundant water thunders down from above.

She gets dangerously close to the waterfall, risking being crushed by the water falling heavily from the rocky precipice. She dives in quickly as the force of the rushing water tears apart the canoe. The woman swims to a fissure in the rock to the left of the waterfall. She sneaks through the tight rocky passage and finds a secret chamber, damp, high and cramped inside. You are now behind the waterfall, feeling the power of the water flowing with a continuous rumble through the stone walls.

This ancient temple is fed by the splashing water and woven by prophet Spiders. It's like the bottom of a deep well; a dozen, maybe a hundred, giant spiders weave intertwined webs. Interwoven silk threads patiently filter the stray drops that run down the stony tunnel. The ancient Spiders weave arcane matrices and patterns throughout the ages, patiently knitting and articulating monstrous possibilities and perilous revelations. The drops of filtered water fall through the interwoven webs of a thousand living threads to the rocky ground, forming a small puddle, transparent in the centre and muddy at the edges.

This is sacred water, each drop taking a millennium to flow here. Prophetic water, inoculated by the venom of centuries-old spiders and alchemised by their woven webs. Each thread is a story, each knot a possibility, each loop a new beginning. The multiple webs, woven and dreamt of, rhythmically emanate primordial songs. The Spiders bless the young woman and whisper to her in their ancient, silent voices, “It will transform you”. She doesn't understand why or when, but knows the Spiders won't answer her prosaic questions because their work is already done. She crouches in the cramped space with her frail body and licks the prophetic water from the puddle.

I woke up.

{dream, May 2022; because you never dream alone and dreams aren't just yours, I offer this dream to anyone who reads it, as it was revealed to me}.