Being A Spider/Being Human

Being human is fascinating. But, then, I could have been Tim, our garden spider.

If I was Tim…

I could have watched in fascination as a mom-being and her seven year old (who’ve captured a really hideously large, slimy cockroach from under a bedroom sofa), approach me at 10 o’clock at night, whispering and giggling from the patio’s shadows; throwing from a plastic cup into my web a tasty, fat, wiggling treat.

I could have completely denied them the satisfaction of dancing full speed across my web to smother the poor creature in my silken threads; the turning and turning of the body under my long, wicked legs; the helpless waiting of the now immobilized and terrified roach as I retreat to the center of my web, a z-like zipper of lighting woven directly down the middle of my home to say, “Look at me! I’m DANGEROUS.” These two legged beings bring me a COCKROACH?! I won’t even move. I know that wiggle. It says, “Yuck. Nothing good to eat at the bottom of my web!” It’s all crunch. Bring me a juicy fly or a tangy katydid. Then we’ll talk ACTION, my funny human friends!

Back to me…

How simple. How elegant. How amazing to be that driven to just exist! Without whining or questioning or hoping or becoming angry over the how and why of being alive. No family feuds, or having to replace a blown tire, or wondering how you’ll ever pass that exam you never studied for. No epiderals, no messy break ups, no ruined proms, or lost concert tickets.

But, then…a spider never gets to hold a hand. Or witness a wedding. Or feel the hope of a promise; the tears we shed over a moving musical passage or scene from a play…the excitment of creating a work of art, clinking glasses over a toast, the roar of a crowd when the homerun is delivered.

The spider has her glory. She must revel in her tasks and her conquests. Yet, her face is always the same. Dark and unmoving.

I’ll take the tears of a little child with a banged up knee who can rejoice in the coming of a band-aid any day.

Tim and I agree on cockroaches, though. No one seems to want them in their nest.