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Shamanic Journey with a Brown Recluse Bite

brown recluse bite

I was bitten last week by a darling Grandmother Weaver.

 

She took form as a rare yet highly poisonous spider for the mountains I walk.  It happened while I was sleeping. Out of my suitcase at the footboard of my bed and under my covers she crawled.

 

She showed me the vision of her cosmic sight. I understand why people die from her venom.
One taste of what she has to say,
and their body freezes.
Her many eyes.
Big fangs.

 

I told my mother and immediately she knew. Brown Recluse. I told my wise sister and immediately she knew. I must RECLUSE.  This is what an Elder told me recently at the river. Seclude from people who don’t see who you are, who don’t understand you, who don’t respect you.  The innocence you carry is far too precious to be at stake. 🕷 So I drank in her venom. I drew a bath.

 

Another wise sister was in my garden and picked the plants I was after. We both knew, plantain and yarrow. I felt the love in her gathering.

I made the water HOT,
hotter than the piping hot blister the bite was forming.

I boiled the yarrow. I chewed the plantain and covered the bite. I made an agreement with Grandmother. “I will drink your venom deep inside my body, I will make a home for it, but I am unavailable to have any tissue rot from it.” She laughed lightly in agreement, nodding her head, but I still felt the potency of her medicine coming on strong.

 

I entered her world as I entered that bath.  Many doorways as her eyes are in fire. Infinite.  I told my body not to fight it. I drew the venom into my heart with breath and simple reception of her gift. The swelling decreased. The fear increased.  Not because I was scared of her but because that is her sacred gift. She draws out the fear for alchemy.

 

I remained sitting for most of the journey. Transported into the world of my nerves and bones. Witch bones. Ancient bones. Hollow bones. I remembered a song I recorded about a month before called Witch Bone. I sang of a spider. I sang of poison. I sang Her in.  Grandmother showed me who doesn’t understand me. Who could hurt me deeply. She showed me how that is not necessary. I don’t need to be in pain and I do not need to suffer at the whims of misunderstanding.

 

She cleared inversions that were attempting to place a landing within my vision. She kept me wrapped in her web. Held and spinning. Protected.

Her venom ran hotter through my body.
Aching yet pulsing a pleasure that I know was just for me. I asked how many other women were journeying with her venom right now.
What I saw is sacredness in her web. In the way she is weaving so much more than what is possible.

 

She is a cleaner.
A thorough cleaner. A crevice cleaner. An instrumental cleaner. Her music sounds like wind and strings. Sometimes sharp and high like a violin, sometimes low like a tuba.  She arrives when there is darkness to clean.  Most darkness is not dirty, but some of it is and when it is, it is highly influential. She showed me where people were doing me dirty.

 

She showed me where my heart was overactive, where I should not be reaching, and transformed it into her.
Highly recommend.