I see my life as a spiderweb, its threads stretching in every direction—into past events and future circumstances. Each place where the threads meet is a moment of concern or anticipation: something I remember, something I’m looking forward to, something I’d rather avoid, something I’m required to show up for. The web isn’t static. Its center keeps moving as I move, and as I step forward, parts of the web dissolve and are re-formed again. There is never a point where all the intersections disappear. One concern finishes and another takes its place.
Some of these future nodes feel light and inviting—anticipating time at Yogaville, a visit with friends. Others feel heavy—a medical appointment, an obligation I’d rather not have. Even pleasant plans carry a quiet tension: I still have to be somewhere at a certain time. I remember my father saying that what he loved most about retirement was not having to be anywhere on the clock. That simple freedom has stayed with me.
I try to soften the web where I can—laying out clothes the night before, finishing the dishes, stretching in the morning. These small acts don’t remove the threads, but they reduce the pull. And then something deeper shifts. Through meditation and insight, I begin to see the web itself—not as a trap, but as the natural structure of living.
The web was never the problem. Trying to escape it was.
When I stop sticking to the threads, I can walk through the intersections without being caught. The center moves, and I move with it. Freedom isn’t the absence of plans; it’s the ability to move through them without tightening around each one—walking the web, rather than being trapped inside it.
Spiritual Gravity 