On my way to the farmer’s market today I had to stop mid stride.  Suspended there above some shrub, waving slightly, glinting sun, was one of the most perfect spider webs I’ve seen.  It was breathtaking.  Right at the center, right where all those angles meet, sat the architect.  I shook my head in wonder.  “I salute you,” I said, almost wanting to bow.

I love the way life keeps you on your feet like that – doling out order when you come to expect chaos, for example.  True, for all that spider’s work, if she’s successful, she’ll have a torn-up home by night.  But for those moments, those moments when her craft is complete and she sits at its center, its core:  all is straight lines, symmetric proportions, geometric calm.

I’d like to honor those moments in my life.  The moments before my webs get broken.  Webs like figuring out how to stay centered in the midst of difficult people or feelings or conversations.  Webs like feeling good physically, like discovering rituals that make me happy and whole, like getting into a good groove in my writing or actually having the house clean.  I want to accept that the moments before the strands get broken, before order starts to fray – those are every bit as real as what comes after.  Every bit as worth honoring and paying attention to.

Chaos is not all of nature.  A tiny artist showed me that today.

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 19th, 2005 at 5:31 pm and is filed under Mindfulness. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.