My international friendship circle queries me about what it is like to live in America now, after September 11th? They assume we feel terrorized and extend compassion. Aware that terror is the main menu Americans are being fed by our corporate media, I was especially heartened by this recent experience we had. Seems that at the Alchemical Bakery, we partake of the side orders rather than the specialty of this nation, the harvests from the Victory Garden. Seduced (or led aside) we are not; the Peace Garden instead feeds our patriotism. What truly feeds my soul, now more than ever, are the moments when fear is embraced and rendered into love.

Here is the scene – Quinn, Halley and I are driving to Richfield to do errands. As we turn off of I-70, Halley noticed a spider crawling by Quinn’s foot. She has a tone to her voice that makes the hairs on my neck stand in attention. Next she exclaims, "It’s a big spider" and follows immediately with "it’s a black widow!"

Ah, the adrenaline rush of fear, my ally. I have to wait until we have made the left turn to pull over from the flow of traffic. I jump out of the front seat and command Quinn to move as he attempts to track the spider’s scurry beneath a towel. My perception, now enhanced by the rush of ‘fight or flight’ hormones streaming through me, brings me into the raw moment. Only one purpose exists as I look for the spider – to protect my children. No room for any other thoughts in my mind as I begin the search for the black widow. Spider is the still point, a mantra, my koan – a meditation on fear.

The terror I feel links me to those living in war zones anywhere. Imminent death by surprise attack – the daily fare for Afghanistan citizens at the moment. While I looked for the spider with all the focus of a devoted philosopher seeking the alchemical gold, the key to mortality, I wasn’t likening devastating bombs with spider bites. Again my simple aim was to save my children from harm.

Gingerly lifting the edge of the white towel, the black spot appears and instantly hides again. Yet I am relentless and find a cup with a lid in the back seat to capture the spider. Halley debates with me if this is safe enough – can I get the lid to close easily, etc. Quickly I seek an alternative yet decide this is the best option. With cup in hand, I lift the towel and talk to the spider, coaxing her to come into the cup for re-location. Some might consider the move a sign of rising success – moving north from Joseph, a town of 243 to Richfield, the county seat and the biggest city in central Utah with 5000+ people.

Drum roll, please -- She does crawl into the cup and I place the lid on it. A short walk into a field and the black widow finds a new home, grateful for her upward mobility. (Though this might be my projection.)

All of this time, I feel the pulse of life beating me like a drum. I am totally alert in the way that veterans talk about their war experiences. "Never have I felt more alive than when patrolling in ‘Nam". My best high school friend Hank who lives in Israel, told me that being on the edge of death brings out a passion for life in people. My NOCIRC Egyptian colleague also implored me to look again at the war from the Palestinians’ perspective, not just the Israelites, with an intensity that pounds my eardrum to this day. I know this drum that fear sounds so clearly and dance it through to celebration.

We search the back seat for any more spiders, though we reason this is highly unlikely, as black widows tend to be loners. We’ve read that after mating, the females eat their partner. We didn’t think that females ate each other, yet not being sure, we examined the towel and all the other family clutter before driving away. As we said goodbye to the lone spider, the hairs on the back of my neck were still attentive (in case the web of fear might ensnarl me again) yet soon they were ‘at-ease’.

Driving home the realization hit me. The obvious solution to the situation, any parent with common sense would have employed, was to merely kill the spider. Quinn confessed that this thought had crossed his mind but he summarily dismissed it. I hadn’t even considered this as an option. It seemed to me that the best way to protect my children was to remove them first from harm’s way.

Precisely what the Afghanistan immigrants are hoping to do. Then next, to place the threat in a field away from people. I wonder where this field is for the terrorists? Just as I had done with the spider, I signed petitions to our government to do likewise with the events of September 11th. In other words, I urged by letter and phone calls to respond in a way that is best for life, without violence and with understanding.
We never expected to be traveling with a black widow in our caravan. Yet when it happened, the response was one of fear transformed into gratitude. First I was grateful for our safety. Next I was grateful for my altered perception and the opportunity to hear the inner drum. It was like the call to a feast of love.

I loved that spider for bringing me the raw moment. I love Quinn and Halley for being aware and responding peacefully to a real threat. Last my gratitude is immense for life itself and to remember that I am caught on its web with the spider and the terrorist, entangled inextricably through fear. As a mother, I do my best to keep my children safe from harm --yet the threat was within our own vehicle. The lesson here is obvious – the enemy is within.

Wish it were so easy to remove the enemy from within, as it was (in retrospect) to re-locate the spider. Fear summons me to feed the hungry ghosts and what my children and I served up that day driving to Richfield was respect -- an understanding that though this wasn’t supposed to be happening, it IS happening. Life is precious -- even when afraid, we can be reverent. Fear sometimes may be the prayer before life’s banquet. May the closing prayer be one of peace.