Spiders

And Their Webs

The right side of my face is smashed into the carpet. Maybe not smashed, but it has been in contact with the floor for over two minutes now. I am very still. I wonder if the carpet is starting to make grooved impressions in my skin. I’m in sleeping swan position, a yin yoga posture, which is supposed to open the hips. The hips hold onto things, you know. This posture is supposed to clear tension and rid your body and mind of what is no longer serving it. Create openness and space. My left leg is folded up in front of me, bent at a 90-degree angle, my right leg long behind me and I’m laying atop my folded-up leg. I am comfortably, uncomfortable.

Photo by Richie Bettencourt on Unsplash

While I’m supposed to be breathing into the posture I look over and see the underside of a dresser in the room. This dresser holds cards, photos, and drawings my daughter did in pre-school. Memories. Mementos. I’ve never done yoga in this spot before and I’ve never noticed that the underside of this dresser is completely covered in spider webs. They are intricate, dense, and the light is catching them just right. I sweep under there, yes, but I have never lifted the broom to graze the underside of this piece of furniture. I see not one, not two, but three spiders hiding there.

Should I just close my eyes? Continue to breathe? Focus on the sensations in my body? Release the tension? I can’t stop thinking about the spiders. And their webs. How long have they been spinning their webs there? What else is forming where I can’t see it? No, not where I can’t see, but where I choose not to look. Is it possible to look up, under, around every little thing for the spiders and their webs? How can I clear every nook and cranny? The spiders are creepy. Crawly. Casting their webbed shadows. Invading my space. I’m not arachnophobic but…

Will they take over? Do they belong here?