The spider’s web is web of protection around art-making, around play, and around intentional community. It is an offering of spaciousness from social media. This work allows me to take time with my daily practice, with myself, and with my communities that feels easeful in my body. I hope that these offerings will bring you more ease and consideration in your own body. You can find me here, with my energetic offerings, my contact, and my IG @meredithannewhite.
I will be donating a portion of this newsletter’s proceeds to the Feminist Women’s Health Center. If you are not in Atlanta, I encourage you to look into abortion service providers and reproductive care options in your communities.
I’ve come back from NY with some healing reality checks. The last time I was able to visit was the beginning of 2020. An entire dismantling of city, of body, and of space has happened between then and now. I’ve been reminded of many things— one of the most pertinent being that placing something out of sight does not make it go away.
It’s easier to assume the grass is greener in another space. I’ll be farther away from the bullshit I’ve been carrying around in a canvas tote for years now. The awkward run-ins with past lovers and relationships dismantled will be less frequent. Stepping into a restaurant won’t feel so complex because there aren’t memories of pain tethered to them.
I’m reminded that if I’m anywhere long enough there’s bound to be entanglements. I stepped off the plane and received news that a sublet I wanted fell through. I visited an old friend and found flyers for events on the fridge that I wasn’t invited to. I witnessed entire neighborhoods succumb to public art as ad space.
The dialogue in my head has a way of keeping me tethered to what-if scenarios instead of facing the truth of circumstances as they present in real time. It’s easier to believe that my experiences will be less painful when physical spaciousness stands between me and them. I’m reminded that being away doesn’t dissolve the practice of presence.
This dialogue has kept me safe in many ways, and yet it’s kept me stuck on loop. It’s limited me from claiming harmful experiences as they have existed for me. I’ve observed institutions promote spiritual hierarchy as a tool for exploitation. I’ve experienced art space operate on tokenization for their success. I’ve seen wellness communities practice under the veil of family as a tool for perceived closeness. I’ve experienced manipulation in all of these spaces. I gave my power to people that loved taking it from me. I tethered myself to constructs that made it that much harder to leave them.
I share these experiences because I’m allowing myself to claim them. I’m allowing myself to claim them so that I may better understand my trigger points. I’m allowing myself to question the practitioner. I’m allowing myself to research the origin of a teaching. I’m allowing myself to say no to a practice that feels misaligned for me even if it works for someone else. I’m allowing myself to question my internal landscape so that I may uproot systems I’ve claimed as truth for a long time.
I went to the Folk Art Museum while there— a free museum with a collection of work primarily composed of unidentified artists. The work weaves together the lineage of the lost and the forgotten. It’s less about the life of someone we so often put on a pedestal, and more about the glorification of the mundane. It reminds me that institution often convinces us that the work is better with a big name and budget. This is simply untrue.
This collection of work honors daily practice. The work keeps record of the stories untold. The relationship of repetition as a marker for deep observation is striking. The collection highlights an awareness of place and presence. It reminds me that the current place I am inhabiting is rich with community. I’m reminded that I can express gratitude for what is here with me right now that is supportive.
I’m reminded that no matter where I live, the root of the issues remains. I’m reminded that the structure we have oriented around for hundreds of years fails us our human rights on a daily basis. I’m reminded that community is the source that I choose to root back into when all else feels lost. I used to think that someone was going to save us. Now I understand that we will save us.
I choose to highlight the spaces I currently feel held by. I encourage you to do the same if the world feels heavy today or any day.
I’m held by craft nights.
I’m held by the trees in the forest.
I’m held by dinners from my partner.
I’m held by uncertainty.
I’m held by my short hair.
I’m held by anger.
I’m held by sharing skills with my friends.
I’m held by finding new truths.
I’m held by picking up spiritual practices in unlikely spaces.
I’m held by setting down spiritual practices that no longer feel aligned.
I’m held by not knowing.
I’m held by claiming experience as it is.
I’m held by my bleed.
I’m held by community.
Thank you so much for being here. I honor where you are in your practice right now.
The spider’s web is web of protection around art-making, around play, and around intentional community. You can find me here, with my energetic offerings, contact, and my IG @meredithannewhite.
Thank you Meredith. I really loved this and will return to it again and again.