Susan Elizabeth Hale

Spider Woman tells me to sing...She tells me to go deep within my song to reweave myself… not just to sing while I cook or hum in the grocery line,  not just join a choir…Spider Woman tells me to sing …She tells me to go deeper than I have before…Deeper than the words I’m writing, deeper than a cave within the earth…

Spider Woman tells me to sing…She tells me to listen to the tune of her web, to the music inside each note…She asks me to sing the scroll written in a leaf, the musical score of the mountains, the sound inside a seashell…Spider Woman tells me to sing, to let go of anything I’ve ever heard about the voice and to sing the song of the honeycomb…

Spider Woman asks me to sing the song written in my bones, the signature of my fingerprint, to sing in the key of Susan…Spider Woman asks me to sing the sonata of a rose, the lullaby of the grapevine…Spider Woman tells me to sing… to go deep within my song…deeper than I’ve gone before, a voyage on the Songship Enterprise…she tells me to follow the cochlea’s spiral all the way to the Milky Way…

Spider Woman tells me to sing in concert with the marsh hawks, in harmony with spring frogs…Spider Woman tells me that my breath is a strand of her web, that sacred geometry is being created by my voice joining with her voice, joining with Voice, otter and buckwheat, prairie wolf and tangerine, orca and magnolia… the diadem of her shining web.