It’s another beautiful day at this midpoint of official spring. There are no clouds in this morning’s sky, only the haze of the rampant pollen to subdue the glow of the sun. Just this morning, the lilacs have begun to leaf; it will days, at most, before the buds begin to open and the short-lived purple petals bloom.
The Swainson’s hawk circles languidly over the field to the south, less intent on actual hunting than willing to avail herself of prey should an opportunity present itself. The small birds are everywhere now — finches, gold and otherwise; hummingbirds; even the occasional kinglet. Not dragonflies yet, for there is no water in the pond, but other creatures of flower and earth are now venturing out into the warmth — butterflies, wasps and honeybees, spiders of all sorts.
As I type, I can see a strand of a spiderweb stretching from the railing to the doghouse outside the window, a single silver filament in the morning sunlight.
Spider is a spirit perhaps less of water than of dreams, weaving a web of mystery and otherworldly sights, but in this place, water is too often the stuff of dreams on this side of that veil. In the best of years, we take special care with its use, catching that which falls from the sky in rain barrels and distributing it out to the trees and shrubs, pumping that which flows downstream to fill the pond out to the fields and gardens. It has been some time since we have had a good year, never mind “best.”
This year, though, holds promise. After two years of burned fields and dying trees and no capacity for growing food or medicine, we at last can reasonably dream of a green world and a good harvest. At this moment, though, a dream is all it is, that and the work, of course. We can make educated projections about the path the summer’s weather and growth patterns will take, but as is always the case, we shall have to wait and see what world and spirits deliver.
And so while we work, we pray. We sing. We hope and dream — dreams of the water.
That last cuts both ways: We dream of the water, yes, but what of the water’s dreams of its own? Science is only now beginning to catch up to truths our peoples have long known. An example is the sentience of plants; most colonial scientists deny it, but what else would you call consciousness sufficient to rise, to rest, to defend, to heal? In our way, all things are animated by spirit in their own way; it may not take the form and shape of human consciousness, but it exists, all the same.
Who is to say what may be the dreams of the water?
And who is to say that Spider Woman, weaving her silken web, does not offer a more accurate window into such worlds than any petri dish or microscope?
Today’s featured work is Spider Woman made manifest in the shapes and shades of the water itself: a head formed of Skystone, rain fallen from the skies; body of lapis lazuli, as blue as the sacred lake. From her description in the relevant section of the Bracelets Gallery here on the site:
Spider Woman Cuff Bracelet
Our dreams are the threshold between our contemporary existence and ways much older than memory. In many traditions, Spider Woman is the gatekeeper of such thresholds, and today, we still use the gift of her web to protect our dreams. Here, her ancient power is embodied in this spectacular cuff, hand-formed from a single piece of sterling silver and adorned with stones of protection and power. Her eight legs, texturized by hand-stamping extend from the dazzling oval lapis cabochon that forms her body. Hand-cut, hand-stamped pincers and silver spacer beads accent the protective Skystone of Sleeping Beauty turquoise that forms her head. Another view shown below.
Sterling silver, lapis lazuli, and Sleeping Beauty turquoise
$1,200 + shipping, handling, and insurance
This has always been one of my favorites, out of Wings’s entire body of work. It is a spirit whole unto itself, a bit of magic and mystery bound up in the web of visions and dreams and the shapes and shades of the First Medicine.
As that single filament outside the window indicates, there are many of her kind here now. We do not turn them away, merely move them to safer spaces, for their presence is a gift to us on a purely practical level, especially in the warm season.
She is a gift in other ways, too, a defender of dreams and a visionary guide. Perhaps an offering to her would not be amiss now, an intermediary gift to, and for, dreams of the water.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2020; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
