A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.
The soul or consciousness is remarkable for its capacity to ever spin gossamer threads of intent. Every person is their own renewable engine of thought woven together onto the conscious landscape around them. Only imagination limits the extent of this web. No wonder in the Navajo tradition, it is Spider Woman who is the guide of souls into the next world. The unyielding patience of the spider shows us the way.