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Spider Queen

This is simply a record of a dream I had a few years ago, as such, feel free to disregard or speculate as to who the figure therein may be, because I’m still not entirely sure, but I know that since the dream, I have seen her many times – most often in regards to art, such as when I’m painting or weaving. She makes her presence known and watches, but says nothing and always leaves as abruptly as she arrives.

This dream happened within a series of dreams I had about Doors. While this one happened after the original, this one has been the one that has burned itself most vividly into my memory. It is as follows:

I am in the darkness – one that is so frightfully black, it seems to devour all light and even sound – as I’ve heard many describe a mine as being light. It is a palpable darkness, one that seems to the eyes as to move. And then there was a glow. It was very faint at first, before my eyes became adjusted to its softness. It was most skin to a sort of bioluminescence, though it was the floor that emitted it – calling attention to grand in size the cavern was. The scale was unbelievable. Columns shot up on either side into the blackness above, which the floor could not illuminate. The walls bore carvings, but I couldn’t make them out at such a point.

I began to walk forward, with every step my eyes were able to make out more and more through the blackness overhead – but as I came nearer and nearer to the end of the hall, I took not of the barely glimmering filaments before me. And as I walked, the filaments that hung from above began to part like a great curtain, and I saw then that on the end of each strand was a spider. They parted as I walked, scurrying toward either wall in such a way the formed a blanketed canopy on either side of me. It was then I noticed that it was not the floor that was glowing, but the light from beneath a door I was walking toward – which crept underneath in a lilac-tinted haze.

There are few words to describe how large the door was. It was monumental, rising straight up for what could have been a hundred, two hundred feet straight up – and every inch of their surface bore the same etchings as before, only now they were visible. I don’t remember them specifically, but they looked to be Mayan. However, while there were the characteristic sections of sectioned words that Mayan is known for – they are chunked into squares that form words – there were also great, stela, relief scenes of what looked to be a battle or story. As I said, I can’t remember the exacts of what was depicted thereon, but I remember it being a great and impressive thing to behold. And as I came to the door, the glowing from beneath grew stronger and painted me in a matching hue. I remember being thinking I should be in awe of such a grand piece of art and craftsmanship, but I wasn’t – as though I had seen it thousands of times.

I touched the face of the door, and without an ounce of exertion, the whole giant door (it was actually a set of double doors, I opened the right half) swung with a grinding noise as the stone moved over stone and the lilac light ceased and the cavern – which was just as massive – was lit overhead by one sky-light. The cavern, which was not nearly as wide as it was tall, shot upwards through what could be best described as clouds – though it was more of a mist. However, I think that speaks for the grandiosity of the cavern, that it was so large it had developed its own climate. It was through the clouds that the light shone done in a single column, illuminating a towering stalagmite. But it was still note a sense of awe that came over me, but one of dread. It was not fear, though it probably should have been, but it was more like a sense of discomfort. Such as the feeling you get when you’re about to do something you really don’t want to do. A “happy” blend of anxiety and annoyance.

I walked into the cave – and found that around the stalagmite was a “moat” of sorts, but filled with a foreboding, black “water.” Like the sea at night, when nothing can be seen through it. I turned left, following the path of stone around the moat, but keeping my eyes firmly on the tip of the stalagmite. And as I came around the bend, I saw her sitting there. The top 1/3 of the stalagmite had been carved into a throne, and was occupied by one of the most ferocious looking women I have ever seen.

Her skin was grey – almost stone-like in color, but did not bear the sickly hue often associated with “grey-skin.” It glistened, damp in the humidity of the cavern. She wore a black dress, which I can’t remember very well, only that it had on obsidian glint to it, as though it was beaded with it. And atop her head was the most unforgettable “crown” – that appeared almost like an overturned spider, with eight, wicked legs pointing upward. I swear they may have even moved – but if they did it was very slowly.

I only got a peak at her face, but it was very angular – her cheekbones were the most prominent, her lips were a shade of dark purple, almost black – and it was obvious that they were naturally that color, not painted. And her eyes were a frighteningly light color for her complexion, either a very light grey, if not lilac themselves.

As I came around the throne, her eyes fixed on me and an instantaneous anger shot daggers from her eyes, and her long nails curved around the arms of her throne as she opened her mouth and screamed the most horrifying, blood curdling scream – one of extraordinary and evident anger. I simply stood there, my face unmoving, looking straight into her eyes.

That’s when I awoke. 

After which, when she appeared to watch me, she did not echo the same anger. She was by no means bright and sunny, but she did not exude the unimaginable anger that she did in the dream. She seemed distrustful, bitter, and aloof – which was by far better, in my book. When she appears, its as though she is checking in, to make sure I’ve “changed” – and when she sees that I have, she seems strangely bitter – almost as though she’s trying to catch me in a lie. And when she doesn’t, she just leaves. Every time, though, she gets less and less angry and more and more curious – the last time I saw her, she was leaning over my shoulder to look at something, with that curious sparkle people get in their eyes. When I turned to face her, I saw what may have been an intrigued smile on her face – but then she was gone.

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Symbolically, human cultures have painted the spider with certain overarching tropes. There a few beings (save snakes) that conjure up such a collection of frantic and frightful emotions as our eight-legged (often unwanted) house guests. Time has been unkind to the arachnid, nowadays being portrayed as horrific giant beasts or appearing in droves in any B-Rated horror movie. With that being said, however, mankind has long feared and emulated the spider’s unique brand of strengths.

Similar ideas appear throughout the world in regards to spiders, often portrayed as expert weavers (as in the Greek origins of Spiders and the nomenclature thereof — Arachne // also the Mayan Spider Goddess at Teotihuacán, thought later to be adapted by the Aztecs in the form of Xochiquetzal), as well as creative forces (Spider Grandmother in a number of Native American tribes) in regards not only to tapestry and worldly crafts, but the creation of the Stars and the Universe.

It is not hard to see why our ancestors looked onward to the spider and beheld such great beauty and strength in their art. They created their own world, so was it such a stretch to assume that they wove the silken threads that hold the cosmos together? I think not. Spiders being illusory beings with a great patience is another facet garnering worship. While many breeds do in fact hunt prey, the archetypal spider lies in wait for wayward insects to fall victim to their snares. At once, they leap into action to ensure their next meal, obliterating their prey nearly completely. They are a patient, reclusive and humble animal, in a way uniquely their own.

Another interesting facet to the spider mythos is a strange correlation to prostitution (perhaps not so strange, considering the ensnaring) across the globe. In Japan, there is the dualistic Jorōgumo (portrayed as both malevolent and benevolent, depending on location), a spider spirit-being that can take the form of an alluring female or a unassuming child that lures honorable men and warriors astray to feed on them. Alternately, she is a being known to fetch drowning men from the depths of waterfall basins. This spider correlation to water and prostitution, however, does not appear solely in Japan.

Actually, the Aztec goddess of prostitution, fertility and craftsmanship, Xochiquetzal, also correlates to this mythos. As previously mention, it is believed that Xochiquetzal is an Aztec reinvention of an earlier Mayan Goddess — portrayed most famously in Teotihuacán (colloquially known as the Great Spider Woman). Assuming she is the base for Xochiquetzal, spider connotations are easily assigned. Curiously enough, (in a story vaguely similar to the Greek Persephone) Xochiquetzal is said to have been abducted from both her husband and twin brother by Tezcatlipoca, a multi-faced God central to Aztec beliefs. One important role of Tezcatlipoca was that he reigned as chief God of Sorcery and Obsidian — an extremely important stone/glass to the Aztecs. In fact, it was used as a took for divination when placed at the bottom of a water vessel similar to “scrying.” The idea behind which being that one could see the “fire” within the “water.” Xochiquetzal was widely held to be a Goddess associated with butterflies (which were thought to be related to fire within the Aztec mythos), her predecessor connected to spiders (related to water, because waves refract and reflect light much like a spider’s web). Thereby, the fire within the water was described symbolically as a butterfly caught within a spiders web, and therein lied the means through which divination could be used.

I have found that spiders can teach us great wisdom, that of both patience and tact. We have the ability to “build our own world” and be the gatekeeper to those who may enter safely, otherwise risking destruction. She — as I have found spiders to be portrayed more often feminine than masculine — too, may reassure beliefs in fate and destiny, the invisible strands that bind all matter and spiritual paths. She reminds us that patience brings reward to those ill-equipped to bull-headedly manifest our own destiny. She is at once a being of youthful femininity, unabashed by sexual endeavors, a figure of fertility and the power of feminine wiles, and also a wise and understanding beacon, ensuring that even when all things seem to fall beyond your favor, with patience what you seek will come.

So, too, is she a symbol of resilience. When a spider’s web has been destroyed, it will buckle down and begin again, in the hopes that the world it creates will be even better than the last.

When next tested with the presence of a web-weaving spider, think before you swat. Spiders are docile beings with poor eye-sight and the animalistic urge for survival. Only when prompted with no other course of action will they strike, and even then, it will be most likely of little consequence to you. Even the most commonly maligned spider, the Black Widow, will not strike unless disturbed, and even then only a 5% chance of sustaining even slightly less than inconvenient maladies. Do not destroy something so beautiful as the keepers of fate, they are only attempting to ensure their own survival by cleaning up pest insects near you.

Youthful and elusive, creative and wise, Spider Magic gives you the chance to reshape your own destiny or look to where the strands might take you. Build a world around you over which you have control, and even when forces conspire to tear down all that you have built, remember the promise of new beginnings, erect a world even more beautiful and awe-inspiring than the last.

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