I Started a Substack
How spider inspired and grasshopper launched
On October 12, 2022, I froze on the side of a neighborhood street.
Conceptually I knew cars continued passing, traffic lights were still switching, the breeze went on breezing.
But I, stopped. And it felt as if the world paused alongside me. Surroundings quieting enough to hear the crispest whisper, “When you reach home, everything changes.”
I felt the truth of that message in my bones. But my brain immediately denied it, as it was accustomed.
The thought, “There’s no way. That can’t be.”
I look back at that woman with fondness now. I didn’t know then that that subtle-sounding voice would return in time and become one of my loudest guides.
At 38, I’d spent much of my existence smothering such intuition with a pillow, gagging it with a rag, taping it shut, afraid to hear what it might have to say.
That day, there was no more tuning out. Because when my legs finally reached home, everything, indeed, changed. The earth opened below, and I found myself in the pit of a crevice, looking up to the surface where on one side stood “who I was before” and on the other, “who I was becoming.”
The me, there in the middle, was someone I no longer recognized. “Who am I now?” became my rallying cry.
I’ve spent two years to the day in this discovery. Climbing up to the human I’m learning I was born to be.
And I say “learning” because teachers have reached out to hold my hand as I explore.
They’re therapists, bodyworkers, and energy movers. They’re shamans, tantrikas, and medicine mavens. They’re animals, dreams, and strangers. They’re numbers, stars, and tarot cards. They’re ancestors, winged creatures, and whispers. They’re plants, rituals, and spine-traveling chills.
These wayshowers began showing up, with just the message I needed, at the precise time I needed it.
It’s wild to think that they were there all along. I was just too numbed out to notice. It was almost like, as soon as I cracked open, sight and sound went into overdrive. I suddenly could see what was before unseen to me. Hear what was before inaudible.
In time, I thawed and began to feel, everything.
Everyday Alchemy: The what and the why of it
My relationship with this ancient, worldly word, “alchemy,” is young. Fresh. Yet my felt sense is that it captures the essence of the stories I aspire to share here.
Its first records date back to the 1300s, found in Old French, Medieval Latin, Arabic, Greek, and Middle English, at least, and seems commonly defined as “the medieval forerunner of chemistry, based on the supposed transformation of matter; concerned particularly with attempts to convert base metals into gold or to find a universal elixir.”
My hope is that “Everyday Alchemy” encourages us to elevate and transmute whatever is present into a property with everlasting, potent, healing potential.
Present for me around starting this Substack was fear. Did what I desire to say deserve saying? How would it be read and received, if at all?
What also presented around fear, was spider, grasshopper, and a dear friend’s dream, which I ultimately used to alchemize into courage—and publish, this, first, piece, that you’re reading now.
“Everyday Alchemy” will tell the tales of how I’ve learned to spot mystery in the mundane and roll the discoveries around in my fingers as if turning lead to gold. A precious opportunity to connect more to my Self and the beings and things that surround.
My far-out fantasy is that these once-private insights—however minute—inspire you to seek everyday marvels in wait to be witnessed so that they may move and uplift you, too.
Spider, grasshopper, and a dear friend’s dream
Over the last several years, I’ve rarely missed a morning of handwritten journaling time. Fresh from sleep, dream memories are documented, the previous day’s happenings chronicled, and associations made. Timing intertwining. Patterns recognized. Insights revealed.
Monday, August 5, 2024. The sun barely shone when I joined my cat outside and noticed a delicate spider spinning a web between bush branches. It was meditative, watching her. I journaled about its resemblance to a labyrinth.
The very next day, on a new hike, a rock labyrinth near the trailhead and several large webs sparkling along the path.
These are the synchronicities I now take care to notice and track. This one felt emotionally evocative enough to write a poem. Something I’d been doing more of to practice self-expression, to keep from keeping it all inside—the magic, the ache, the yearning, the everything.
My body started to wonder, “How might it feel to put some of these writings out into the world?”
The evening of August 22, laptop open in bed, I looked fear in the face and typed answers to questions like, “Why would I share and why would anyone listen?”
In the middle of the exercise, the cat knocked a tarot card book clear off the dresser. It was time for his second dinner, and I was late delivering. I rose, picked the book off the floor, and glanced at the upturned page.
Staring back at me was the Eight of Pentacles, represented by… a spider in the middle of her web.
Its message read, “The spider is a true master of her craft. She weaves against all odds with skill, intricacy, and confidence. The Eight of Pentacles requires a similar approach. Hone your skills. You are close to finding mastery at your craft, so strive for it. Pay attention to all the details. Start a project. Become good at it.”
August 24, I sat at the kitchen table and started to write with Substack in mind as the platform. It was late, the backdoor open for the cat who was out doing nocturnal things. My peripheral vision registered a fluttering in of what I thought was a moth, likely attracted to the light in the dark. But when I looked up, a bright green grasshopper stared down from the ceiling. I took him safely outside.
The next morning, a Sunday surf session on a packed day had me parking far from my usual spot. Walking back to the car, I caught sight of garden art: a giant, aluminum, grasshopper.
What—I wondered—was grasshopper trying to tell me?
Finding a plethora of symbolism possibilities, I noted those that felt most true around following this nudge to publish:
Grasshopper usually asks us to take a leap of faith, calculating the risks and making a brave jump without knowing the outcome.
We possess the strength and courage to take action and make bold decisions to get what we want in life.
It may be difficult, but freedom, independence, and enlightenment come from hard work.
Monday afternoon, a text from a dear friend came through, out of the blue. A little surf talk followed by, “Also, I had a dream last night and I have to remind you that your writing is amazing. And don’t give up on doing your own thing. Your side hustle will grow. You’ve planted the seeds. Now water them.”
She had no, idea, that Everyday Alchemy was in its gestation phase, on the verge of being born.
And I was brought to tears by the mystery of it all.
> The ritual: Can you notice a certain creature making a repeat appearance in your life? Out on a walk? On a car bumper sticker? Painted in a mural? Revealed in a dream? Note where your attention is when they show. Explore their symbolism and consider what message they may carry for you.
Fortifying faith
In the middle of the unknown, shit can feel dark and scary. And it can be really, difficult, to believe that it will get lighter. That it will get better.
I was doing ok when these conversations with spider and grasshopper started up.
Ok is when it’s easy to get sucked into routine, into the grind, into the loops. The practice of presence strengthens awareness, so that when we look around, we notice the details that can fortify our faith.
Spider and grasshopper were just the messengers for whatever one’s called to call it. Depending on my mood, might be God, Source, or Divine. Maybe my Goddess or higher Self. It’s the vital, life-giving energy, waiting to be witnessed so that we can step into the unknown. So that we can frolic around on this earth having all the human experiences at least knowing—with full certainty—that we are supported.
No matter how mind-blowingly blissful or bashing it gets.
Weaving Wonder
Look at you, leggy lady Spinning your sinewy sweetness In circles Some stop to admire Some stop to abhor Some miss your presence completely “Out of her mind,” they surmise In wonder at your persistence Or in detest at your obsession No matter the effort to create a stable foundation All they can see is you steadily moving Around and around and around and Pausing only to fuse The spokes in your wheel With a freshly, birthed, thread Maybe it’s madness For when you’re knocked down You always get right, back, up To rebuild Fueled by ancestral power, instinctual purpose Even if today’s dream goes unrealized You know this and still You fearlessly follow Your own path A magical master A graceful guru A tenacious teacher May we be so blessed To weave such webs Of clear and conscious connection
A big warm hug from me for reading, dearest Everyday Alchemist. Until next time, let’s hear some stories of when guides appeared to show you the way.
Thank you Amy - had to read, digest and read again. They say stepping into the unknown is where the magic happens.
Beautifully written and inspiring. Thank you for sharing!