Loving the Tarantula

For my entire life I've been terrified of spiders. Even the teeniest speck of a spider brought on panic attacks as a child (and who am I kidding...two years ago a black widow nearly scared me literally to death). I remember some story about a black widow being in my crib, but I don't know if it's true. I do remember the black widow that came crawling out of the faucet one day when I was about to take a bath. And all the black widows that made webs on the foundation of the house who terrorized me as I helped my mom plant marigolds. Me and spiders just didn't mix.

The last three months of college in Boulder I lived in the basement of a townhouse. Desperate to find a place, I'd taken the first one I saw. The day I moved in the former tenant casually said, "By the way, this place has a lot of spiders." Alarm bells sounded in my head. I went into full panic. How could I live there?! Just then, a big spider lumbered out of the closet. It was a long three months. Every morning, as I sat peeing in the tiny bathroom, one or two spiders would crawl out of the space occupied by the water heater (and a spider colony, apparently) and come to wish me a good morning. Or sometimes they sat in the bathtub, and spiders always look bigger contrasted against white bathtubs. These spiders met with a watery grave.

Other spiders in this house weren't so lucky. They were doused with Raid. And so was I. Perhaps all my health problems can be traced to living in a Raid bomb for three months.

Even though I thought the only alternative to going crazy from panic was killing these creatures, I didn't feel good about it. I just didn't want them near me...and especially not on me. 

One spider almost caused me to wreck my car. It was a gorgeous fall afternoon in Denver. I pulled out from the light at 6th and Speer and as I did, I looked to my left. I detected movement on my arm. My heart raced and then I saw it: a small, white, creepy-as-hell spider. I shrieked and flung my hand to whisk it off of me. Then I remembered I was driving. I looked up just in time to avoid hitting the car in front of me. Shaking terribly, I pulled into a gas station. I searched the car...it couldn't have gotten far. The spider crawled out from under my seat and met its death: pounding by ice scraper. 


So I guess I'm a recovering spider murderer. It doesn't feel good. But I am trying to make amends. Sometime in the last year my heart flipped over and I started to care for spiders. Not love, mind you, but I developed a respect and admiration for them. They're pretty amazing. They create incredible webs. And many cultures believe they are symbols of the goddess. So that changed my mind. I started to wonder if Spider was one of my totem animals. I had no trouble accepting Bear and Owl, but Spider? Hmmm.

Somehow, it sank in and I embraced spider as sacred. I placed the Spider card from the Medicine Cards on my altar. And I declared a moratorium on spider murder both at home and at work. Now they spiders are relocated. I have also spoken with the spiders and told them the house rules: they can live with me as long as they don't get on me. If they break that rule, I can't guarantee my reflexes won't kick in. No one's tried it yet. 

But the biggest change came last week on a hike with a friend in Mount Diablo Regional Park. (You may remember that this is the place where I first encountered Owl. It's a magical place...I've seen a mole, quail, and a coyote there as well.) We were out at dusk, our favorite time to be in Nature. At one point I looked down and saw my friend about to step on a tarantula! I yelled out, but couldn't articulate what I wanted to say. 

Luckily, she stepped right over it. That's when I realized I wasn't afraid. Instead, I wanted to see it. I wanted to watch it, take it in. I could appreciate its beauty, its fragility. It was big, at least the size of the palm of my hand. And yet, I had no desire to run away. I told my friend in amazement that this was the first time I'd seen a tarantula and not panicked. The last time I saw one, I was the one who almost stepped on it. As soon as I saw it I jumped several feet to the right and had a panic attack. This time, I didn't want to leave the tarantula. 

Eventually we sauntered off on the trail. I couldn't stop thinking about the tarantula. And I knew then that I'd accepted Spider as a totem, because that tarantula is in my heart even now.

Afraid of the Wild

I realized a while ago while visiting my favorite oak tree that I am still afraid of the wild. For all the writing and talking I do about getting into nature, there are some things I can't bring myself to do just yet. Like walk through knee-high grass in summer for fear of ticks, for instance.

My mom works for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and that means I grew up with a more-than-healthy concern for Lyme disease. As I stood at the edge of the trail, facing the magnificent tree that I've sat under so many times, I just couldn't budge. I'd never been there when the grass was high, so I'd never had to confront this particular fear. 

I tried talking myself into walking right through that grass without a care so I could lean up against the tree's wide trunk and take in branches and sky and Mt. Diablo and rolling hills. But it didn't work. I hiked further up the hill and sat under a much smaller tree right next to the trail where I wouldn't have to touch any grass. I felt like a wuss, like I had failed somehow. The view isn't as good from that tree; there are too many cookie-cutter houses and strip malls below. Leaf-blowers whined and car motors rumbled and there was too much smog. And right before me was miner-stripped Mt. Zion's deep ridges, a stark reminder of the damage we do to Nature. It didn't quite create the mood I'd hoped for. But, the view did echo my inner landscape: one in which I'm still afraid of bugs and diseases and dirt. A landscape of separation.

I think that's when the tiny iridescent-green beetle came to visit. It landed on my hand and stayed for a long while, tromping around. Eventually it settled on my finger and I was able to take a picture. I sat with that beetle, watching its antennae waving in the wind. It seemed to have achieved the relaxation I longed for. So I settled back and took its example, content to let the breeze tickle my face. Later, another beetle joined us. It landed in a container where I'd put cherry pits and carrot nubs. I got it to crawl on my other hand and I tried to see if the two beetles could be friends. It didn't work out. The second beetle soon flew off. The first beetle and I shared the space for a bit longer and then it left as well.

I like to think that beetle came as an ambassador from the wild. It visited to say, "Hey, we're not so bad. Get to know us. Don't shy away. And relax already." I don't know if the beetle cured my fear of ticks, but it did encourage me to slowly become more courageous about exploring the wild.

Active Imagination Healing

A few nights ago I took time out to do a castor oil pack and listen to a sound healing CD. During my meditation, I tried a little active imagination healing. I first imagined a strong green light penetrating into my womb, focusing specifically on my ovaries. As I did this, I paid attention to what images arose.

First, I saw a rat gnawing on the cyst on my right ovary. It finished quickly and was left with a large, hard nut. It took the nut and immediately planted it the ground. Right away, a small plant with two leaves sprouted up from the ground, healthy and strong.

I felt really good about that and checked in on the cyst on my left ovary. First I saw numerous tropical fish, many of them yellow, eating the cyst in small bites. I watched them for a while. Then a giant shark shot out of the depths. It took a huge bite out of the cyst and disappeared down into the dark. It surprised me. I had to take a minute to let that sink in.

After the CD finished, I felt incredibly relaxed and I had no pain at all on my right side. The pain on my left side had diminished, and today I feel little pain even though my period is about to start. I hope to do this combination (castor oil, sound healing, and active imagination) again to continue the work the fish and shark have already done. And I'll check in once in a while with that plant to see how it's doing. It will be interesting to see what that seedling becomes.

If you'd like to try this for yourself, there are only a few guidelines to follow with active imagination. The most important piece to remember is to let the images do what they will. Do not try to guide them or control them. And if something shows up you find silly or grotesque, do not try to make it go away. For instance, let's say I saw a pile of maggots, something I consider disgusting. I would want to stay with the image of the maggots to see what they do and what their actions might tell me.

A lot of times disgusting images morph into something else. Stick with it and you'll see amazing things.

Sophia and Coyote

Lately, my synchronicities have centered around Sophia and Coyote.

Sophia can mean the "world soul" or "wisdom" or even the companion of God. Sophia is the woman who could not be contained, who didn't follow the rules. I feel fiery and even a bit dangerous with her as a companion, and I know that's just the energy I need to move forward.

And then there's Coyote, the trickster. He showed himself last weekend and he has inspired my writing. I can feel his twists and turns at play in my life and they are making me a bit dizzy. But in a good way.

How do the two go together? I'm not sure about that yet, but I have no doubt this will be revealed to me eventually. I'm going to strap in and hold on for the ride.

Healing Strategies

My surgery is set for August 11, so I have two weeks now to prepare. During the last week I have explored many options to help me through surgery and recovery. I feel incredibly lucky to have friends and colleagues who have given me a wealth of ideas.

One resource landed right in my lap: my friend Lisa brought me a CD produced by Kaiser Permanente called Preparing for Successful Surgery. The CD, created by Belleruth Naparstek, has led to reduced anxiety, more successful surgery, and less pain after surgery even after listening once (read a study done on the CD here). It includes three parts: guided imagery to prepare for surgery, a series of affirmations, and guided imagery for healing. I've listened to the CD twice already and I can attest that it dramatically reduces anxiety and has helped me manage my pain. I am considering asking to listen to the CD during surgery, something Bellaruth suggests on the CD.

Another practice I'm utilizing is healing through dreams. This happens in several ways and I've experienced a couple of them. The night after finding out I had to have surgery, I dreamed that my one-year-old nephew (who turned one the day I found out about the surgery) was healing me with his hands. It was a powerful and uplifting dream.

That same night, an amazing elephant came to me in a dream. The elephant petted my head and face and I awoke with an incredible sense of calm and love.

A few nights later, I dreamed of a beautiful macaw perched on my right arm, and a cockatoo perched on my left arm. The two flew off, swooping down over the canopy of an immense rainforest and crossing paths before disappearing into the greenery. When I awoke I consulted Ted Andrew's Animal Speak and learned that macaws are a symbol of healing for some South American groups.

So now I have two new healing allies: the elephant and the macaw. I can return to these dreams at any time to gain further healing or work with the energies of elephant and macaw. I can also call on owl, hawk, and bear, my main dream allies to help with healing. I am a novice at dream healing, though, and I would like to learn more about this technique.

The third piece of my healing practice involves buying a plush uterus and ovaries from the fabulous I Heart Guts. It is a humorous move that will inject fun into my healing, and it also holds meaning for me. I know if I can hug an adorable representation of my female parts it will help me send those parts love and healing.

Another strategy for me is performing a ritual to honor the cyst and its message. In this ritual I will thank the cyst for bringing wisdom and send it energy for successful removal. I look at the surgery as a kind of birth; the cyst representatives my creative energy and the trauma I've stored within me for years. When the cyst is removed, my creativity will be unleashed in a new way, and, on one level, the trauma will be released.

I also plan to have a reading and healing done at Intuitive Way the weekend before my surgery. The readers will look at my energy and also the mock-up (or intention) I have for how the surgery will go. I hope I'll be in a really good place by then as a result of listening to the guided imagery CD. After the reading, I'll get a healing on my aura, chakras, and sexual organs. With that under my belt, I should be ready to go!

With all of these strategies available to me, I feel more secure about my ability to handle and recover quickly from this surgery. If you have any additional thoughts or suggestions, please let me know.

Honoring the Dream

A wonderful way to deepen your connection to your dreams is to bring their energy into the physical world. To do this you could share a dream with a trusted friend, or paint, sing, draw, or act out a dream. Many times these activities foster insight into dreams and they always help create a space for dreams in your life. Honoring dreams in these ways shows you respect your dreams and are willing to listen to their messages.

One caveat: some cultures believe that speaking a dream dissipates its energy. Judge for yourself whether or not to share a dream based on how you feel about it. Of course, I encourage you to paint, draw, sing, or dance the dream in private if it is not one you wish to share publicly.

I have worked with my dreams in this way several times and I always get juicy results. My most memorable exercise involved Owl, my spirit guide. Owl first arrived in my life last July. She came in a dream disguised as a hawk with a cat's head. To honor this dream, I shared it with a class of dreamers and then wrote a paper about it (this is the paper I will present at the IASD conference; you can read it at the link above).

I worked with Owl's energy for a number of weeks after I had the dream, which led to synchronicities and further dreams featuring Owl. During this time, I read about owl behavior, myths involving owls, and goddesses connected with the owl. I also asked Owl for further dreams and she brought them to me. Through this work, I unearthed my creativity and found new strength within myself.

After the summer class ended, my intense interaction with Owl calmed down. But once I started another dream class, she came back strongly. I encountered her as a snowy owl in a shamanic journey and a dream. This time, to honor her, I created two art pieces. One was a nest made of sticks from local trees, moss, and lichen. The other was a cape sewn and beaded to look like a snowy owl's feathers. The cape allowed me to overcome fears about sewing (I broke out my sewing machine and taught myself how to thread it) and it taught me patience, for beading the cape was a painstaking and slow process.

When I donned the cape at the end of the class and held the nest in my arms, I felt transformed. I was imbued with the energy of Owl: her grace, wisdom, stealth, and cunning. This is what it means to bring the dream into waking life.

My story does not end here, however. In January Owl visited me again in a dream, this time after I had asked my ancestors for a dream. She came in the form of a great gray owl, which I later learned lives in Minnesota and Sweden, my ancestral homelands. This dream had an immense impact on me, and I knew I wanted to bring its energy into waking life.

First, I researched the great gray owl. Then, synchronistically, I ended up on the website for the Lindsay Wildlife Museum, a local wildlife hospital and museum. It turns out they are caring for a beautiful great gray owl from Minnesota. One of the programs at the Lindsay is wildlife adoption, so I immediately sent in a donation to adopt the great gray owl. I now have a picture of the owl on my altar and in May I will be able to visit the bird at the museum. It felt wonderful to honor Owl in this way.

After looking back on all the amazing ways Owl appeared in my life, I decided in February to create another art piece tying it all together. Making this piece was thrilling and it now has an honored spot at the top of my altar. It ties together the "cathawk," snowy owl, and great gray owl dreams as well as my ancestral homelands and my connection to oak trees.

These interactions with Owl changed my life and I know that my commitment to bringing my dreams into waking life enhanced them. Owl is now a constant companion and I call on her energy when I need strength. This is the power of honoring the dream.

Working With Synchronicity

I love synchronicity. When it happens to me, I get excited. Some people feel awe, others get creeped out. It can be strange, especially the first few times we experience it. We know something amazing is happening, something we can't explain, and this can either make us uncomfortable or thrilled. I've been in both places.

Recently, two house guests of mine had an amazing encounter with ladybugs. As they hiked along a serene trail in Muir Woods, they happened upon hundreds of ladybugs swarming on a fallen log. Both of them recognized this was noteworthy; they took pictures, mesmerized by the collection of insects. Later on, as they walked along Stinson Beach, they saw a lone ladybug crawling on a rock. Seeing hundreds of ladybugs on a log in Muir Woods was surprising enough, but here was a solitary ladybug in an unlikely place. I suspect that's when they sat up and took notice.

When they returned from their trip, one of the first things they told me about was the ladybugs. They sounded excited and couldn't wait to show me their pictures. That's when I knew this visitation had meaning for them: there was a distinct feeling of awe in the room.

I knew this was a great moment to work waking life as a dream, so I asked them what ladybugs meant to them. Starting from your own meaning of symbols is important. However, in this case, nothing immediately sprang to mind for my friends, so I grabbed Animal-Wise by Ted Andrews to discover what ladybugs symbolize to others.

We learned that ladybugs are lucky in some cultures. They can symbolize wishes coming true. There was another interesting piece to the puzzle: ladybugs can also signal a time when we are pushing too hard for a wish to come true and we need to sit back and patiently wait for it to arrive in its own time.

As we talked, the number three began popping up. One of my friends mentioned her brother had a recurring dream three times that my friend was pregnant with triplets. I realized that the date was 3/9, and then my friends mentioned it was their 9-month anniversary. We all got chills, which were amplified when I read that ladybugs live for 9 months. Then I remembered their plane had arrived at 3:30 p.m., and that they were in town for three days.

The number three is about expansion, creativity, and luck. It is a spiritual number as well: there is the Holy Trinity as well as the Triple Goddess and the Three Graces.

We knew the universe was trying to say something. We talked about it for a while longer and what the signs might mean. Then, at a certain point, we knew it was time to move on.

It is good to eventually stop analyzing all the aspects of such a situation. If you linger too long or overanalyze, you ruin the numinosity of the situation and can miss the important message.

My friends flew home the next day. That night they broke off their relationship. One of them wrote to me a few days later to tell me about it and said, "Maybe the ladybugs signifying that something had run its course was the right interpretation." They saw the life span of the ladybugs as significant and realized they needed to let go of their relationship in order to expand.

I was surprised. I hadn't seen the situation like that. But, my interpretation wasn't important: just like a dream, the interpretation of the person/people experiencing the synchronicities is the crucial one. I was glad I could witness their communication with the Divine through the ladybugs and grateful it allowed them to make an important decision.

The more we work with and honor synchronicities, the more they happen. See if you can detect them in your life. When you do, tell me about your experiences!