Spiders are messengers of the gods. That’s what I was told as a kid. So, if a spider wandered into the house, we didn’t squash it. We either left it alone or carefully scooped it up with a cup and paper to escort it outside. In our home, killing a spider was bad juju. I didn’t think much about it back then; it was just one of those unspoken rules. But as I grew up, I realized not everyone feels that way.
My niece, for example, kills spiders on sight. Shocked me the first time she did it too because I know my sister didn’t teach her that. But arachnophobia is real, and I get it. It’s a primal fear, right? That deep down something that stirs when eight legs appear from the shadows. Don’t get me wrong, y’all, if I see a spider crawling on me, I’m gonna jump, scream, and totally want it off of me. But I still respect them. They are creatures that straddle worlds. Useful, spooky, harmless? Maybe. But do you want to take that chance?
In the spirit of Halloween, I looked it up and turns out the whole “don’t kill spiders” thing is common. All over the world, spiders are both a warning and a blessing. Like me, they are often left alone or put out. Killing one brings bad luck. In places where people live alongside venomous crawlies, they might not be so… what’s the word? generous? I dunno. Leaving a deadly spider to its own devices isn’t always a good idea. So, erring on the side of caution is probs the best bet. But even then, it’s probably wise to apologize beforehand, so as to not anger the gods. You know?
Here’s a little tidbit I’ve heard a lot: you’re probably never more than a few feet from a spider. Some say three, some say ten, neither is literally true. But somewhere nearby, tucked in a corner of your room, under a leaf in your garden, or stretched between branches on an early foggy morning, a tiny weaver is quietly doing its work. That sense of omnipresence is part of what makes spiders feel both magical and unnerving. They are reminders that the world is alive in ways we often overlook. It’s an arachnophobe’s nightmare.
Halloween makes that feeling of suspense very apparent. Spiders crawl across decorations and candy wrappers. People use “cobwebs” on their doorstops and bushes. (Please don’t do that; it’s bad for the birds.) On Samhain, when the veil between worlds is thin, a spider dangling from a thread might be a message from someone who has passed on. It’s up to us to figure out what that message is. Are they watching over you? Or is it a sign of good luck to come? Maybe it’s both. Or maybe it’s just a spider. ^_^
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I’m pagan. I’m not a huge fan of spiders, bats, and the like, but I dig their symbolism. Spiders represent creativity, patience, and how everything is connected. Their webs are natural mandalas, a quiet reminder that everything we touch ripples outward. I tend to leave webs alone when I find them. They’re way more ingenious than anything I’ve ever done. Ha! I mean, look, if I see a spider and it disappears somewhere in the house, I’m gonna be nervous. But hey, that’s okay.
I think that’s why the superstition about sparing spiders makes sense. Letting a spider live, even if it creeps us out, is a way to respect the mystery of nature, our shared existence, and the world’s complexity.
Maybe that’s the message a spider brings. It says: Slow down. Watch. Notice the threads of life as they weave together, and how even the smallest action echoes beyond what we know. Life is a web, and every choice is a thread. There’s creativity in patience, wisdom in stillness, and courage in facing fear. It also says that tiny things cast big shadows. I mean, just look at how anyone reacts when a spider appears near them suddenly. ^_^
So, when you see one — on the windowsill, dangling from a thread in the evening light, or tucked into a forgotten corner — don’t flinch. Let it be. Maybe the gods still send their messengers on eight legs. And it’s up to us to figure out what that message is.
