Spider robots with limited senses and sensibilities crawl the net of interlocking webs, searching out information and reporting back to their masters all that they perceive a web site to be. Pause to contemplate what the site of a web is.
Where spider robots go frenetic fingertips follow, seeking intersections with directions. Hoping to sell or buy something real, teach, or tantalize, or titillate. Those who weave the interlocking strands, with code that appears to work like magic, beckon to the web of your emotions and thoughts and needs, woven since the day you were born, position words on pages, keys to door number one, two or three, beckon you to come in for a virtual visit to a place that will disappear into thin air at the same time the lights go out.
The White Spider knows that it is Grace allowing her to continue to weave the intricate tapestry she began many years ago, that her immobility creates stability. She focuses, like a furnace of activity fueling all the travel along the byways of her creations. Sometimes she provides directions, but mostly she speaks in riddles, leaving room for detours and inroads down paths meant for only a few.
Her tapestry is so detailed, only she knows the true extent of it. She’s so busy spinning, you must knock quietly at her door and use her time sparingly. Sometimes she takes a little stroll in her vegetable garden so that she can feel the warmth of the sun. That’s when she remembers that she should post some signs, so that thousands of her closest friends can follow. Her thoughts of what need to be done send her scurrying back to work, to create a map and continue weaving a tapestry of connections among people, connections among brain cells, connections among virtual and physical worlds, always remembering the promise of diversity is in the strength of the interlocking fibers of the tapestry.
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