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1. 

I opened all the curtains and windows to invite the Sun in. A breeze came and cleared the air as I continued setting up the ritual space. In the morning light, a waxing Moon waited for me on the surface of my Santa Muerte altar, a kindled charcoal disc making its gradual transition from obsidian black to stone ash. I dropped pieces of amber copal resin on its face, closed my eyes, and told my saint, my Santísima, it’s an offering for the love we both share for Mexico. The smoke made its dance around her statues as I lit the candle and spoke a prayer. 

She knew my intention for that 14-day devotional: to embrace my divine feminine power. 

By day 3, she had communicated that my intuition was dormant. That the messages were all around, but I was unable to see them yet. 

I wasn’t ready to define what this power meant to me. 

2. 

I snuff out the pillar candles on my nightstand. The ceiling stays aglow for a few moments before it all goes black. The smoke off the wicks rises to my face, and I wait for my eyes to witness the doorframe and vanity mirror form their evening silhouettes. 

With the comforter pulled up to my neck, my mind turns with thoughts of things I haven’t implemented at home, and I shed tears for what my son wants and doesn’t have. It used to be tears for the failed relationship with his father. Single parenting is not a lifestyle I would have chosen for us. I am past accepting that. But not beyond figuring out how to ease the pressures of my responsibilities—all of them. I drift and fall into a dream, a vision of a cluster of three vinyl-skinned spiders crawling on my lap. About the size of my fist, they differ in color: black and red, black and yellow, and all black. 

My attention turns to the red one when it creeps away holding a stolen item in its front legs. As I realize it’s carrying bits of my blood, it skitters away to deliver it to an unknowable person—a hidden enemy. Despite this, my only concern is bringing it back to my domain. 

The yellow spider staggers like a marathoner catching her breath at the finish line. It’s encouraged by the all-black spider that pushes it along. This invisible weight it’s carrying, I know it must be correlated with the beam of its bright yellow skin. I feel very protective of it. 

Only after I let go of my concern for the red and yellow spiders am I able to observe the all-black spider. The sheen of its skin is incredible. As if the blackest of plastics were melted over it, then polished to a high shine. It’s calm as I watch it in awe. It turns and tilts in angles so that I can admire how the light illuminates its sleek curves. A thick stream of silk flows out of its assassin body. Peace covers me. 

I wake up and write down every part of my dream, then take note of the unmistakable symbols at play. I contemplate the love I felt for the spiders, even the harmful one. My journal entry closes with the knowledge that they are all facets of me.

3. 

It’s well past the witching hour as I sit down with Santa Muerte. A tall, wide flame tops what’s left of a candle’s waxy stump. I blow my Aztec death whistle for her in the hopes it transports her back to pre-Hispanic Mexico, to our beloved Tenochtitlan. Eyes closed, I feel spirit’s light enter the crown of my head; it passes through my heart, my sex, my feet, and enters the ground below. The light grows in my heart and fills the space around me. My circle is pulsing with warm energy. 

In my mind’s eye, a black spider walks along the center of its web. Having just finished its work, it pulls the last bits of silk off its leg tips. I pick it up with both hands, and it begins spinning a new web on me. 

The spider leaps from my hands and drops down to my toes, then into the ground, its silk trailing behind. It connects the earth to my hips with its thread, then my shoulders, then the top of my head. The needlepoints of its tapered legs caress my skin as it moves over the length of my body. Once it finishes, it returns to the heart of the web in my hands. It nestles in, then falls fast asleep in my palms. 

I open my eyes and see the golden dawn seep in through the gaps of the wooden blinds.