Hey there,
Welcome to a hit of hope.
So most mornings I pull an animal oracle.
I've gotten everything from peacock to hyena.
To earthworm,
To horse.
And mystical child of the Earth that I am.
I love to see what lesson each creature can impart.
Recently,
I pulled tarantula.
Now,
I have a healthy respect for spiders,
But no real fear.
So I was more intrigued than repulsed by this possibility.
And I learn.
A tarantula can represent.
Experiencing transformation.
Facing your fears.
Patiently.
Weaving.
Your destiny.
It also encourages us to confront hidden shadows,
Embrace our authentic self,
And trust our intuition.
Especially when navigating life's sticky situations.
And it reminded me of something I sometimes ask myself.
Would I rather be the fly?
Or the spider.
In life's big web.
What I didn't realize is that tarantulas regularly shed their skin.
Their shells.
They grow entirely new.
Everything's.
This means that a tarantula.
Has multiple opportunities.
Resurrection.
Are tough.
Tender.
And miraculous.
Rising.
From what is dead.
And gone.
It's a leaving behind.
Of the hard.
Prickly shell.
For a new existence.
One that is ready to fit.
And serve.
The new you.
I even watched a video.
That showed a tarantula.
Shedding.
And I'm not gonna lie,
It was a lot like watching someone pop a pimple.
A whole lot of,
Ew,
Oh my God.
Followed by this weirdly satisfying sense of.
.
.
Would you look at that?
What was constricting,
Hard,
No longer a good fit or worth hauling around?
Was thrown off.
As I watched the creature gently emerge.
There was a sense that,
Soft as this new thing was,
The story could only get better.
From here.
At the same time,
A part of my mind was like,
How could that happen?
Because it can feel so much better and safer to know what we know.
To be asked to trust what we don't know?
Who wants to do that?
Sometimes it is right.
And good.
To hold on.
To remain.
And repair.
To honor the commitment.
To not cut and run.
When things get hard.
But I think this can be one of our biggest lessons as first-time humans.
To learn how to remain in challenge.
And to even say,
Yes.
This.
Belongs.
It's a question of staying with.
Even when,
Or especially when.
It gets hard.
And grit gets celebrated as a virtue for a reason.
At the very same time.
When we let go.
We hold space.
For who knows what next.
It reminds me of a guru who once complained.
The ripe fruit in his life.
Wouldn't fall.
If we hold on so tightly.
To what was.
We leave no room.
For the sweet and juicy.
Of what might be.
So how,
In the name of all that is holy,
Do we know which to do,
Hold on or let go,
And when do we do that?
Oh,
That.
Is the crux.
Of being real.
And human.
Brave.
And messy.
And a whole lot of vulnerability.
It can be so easy.
To strap on our shelves and forge our way into the battle of every day.
And yet I'm learning more and more.
That good work.
And good love leave both me and you.
And the world.
Softer.
And to get there,
I know I need to be less.
Armor.
To help my body.
And my spirit come out of its shell.
This process is not easy.
Nor is it pretty.
That new tarantula in the video I watched.
It's a moist and gooey mess.
And if you've ever had one of those gut-wrenching sob sessions when you're just trying to let it all go.
.
.
Well,
Let's just say there's a reason it's called an ugly cry.
Changing,
Healing,
Resurrecting.
We can love those words.
And hate.
The actual process.
Of becoming.
Lighter.
Softer.
More vulnerable.
But it's our chance to practice.
To say yes.
This belongs.
Oh,
And here comes a unicorn.
Some unexplained magic,
Trotting into the empty space.
We.
Brave.
Holding.
So,
Yeah.
Trust stillness.
And change.
And meth.
And tenderness.
And rise,
O brave one.
Rise.
You've got this.
Take care of you.
