Some spiderwebs you can only see when the sun shines on them, the intricacy, the complexity, where it starts and where it ends.
I wonder how we can discover our own complexities in the light when something or someone shines light on us. But maybe we can also shine light on ourselves and become the light.
Does the light reveal the web or does the way the light falls change what we're able to see?
Maybe we can never see the entire web at once. What appeared to be empty space reveals an entire universe of intricate threads, woven together in ways we might never truly understand.
But the web didn't change, it was always there. So if the light changes it, how much of ourselves have we yet to discover because the light has not fallen upon those places yet.
When another person comes into our lives, they can illuminate something within us that we never knew existed. We can also mistake their light for the source of what we've found, while they've only shown us what was ours all along.
The web remains after the sun is gone. What is unseen is not always absent. We don't need to see every thread, or understand how it all comes together, to trust that it does.
We do not become whole through seeing ourselves more clearly, we can begin to recognize the wholeness that was always there.
So how can we sit with what is seen and what is unseen?
To let the light come and go, to loosen our grip on the need to see and understand ourselves.
Remembering that the sun doesn't create the beauty of the web, it just reveals it.