Here's another great poem by Whyte. To me, it tells of the divine paradox of being in the (metaphorical) desert. When you burst through into acceptance of your aloneness, that's when everything starts to speak to you.

I had a difficult day today, discovering there were some 1200 broken links on the Openhand website from the migration - and I felt a bit down hearted about it. There's a lot of work to be done to fix them. So I took myself off to meditate on the river bank. I'm sitting there when a little money spider drops on my arm and starts weaving together the hairs on it!

It seemed the spider had a massive amount to do, yet that didn't deter it. It was busy just being the spider and weaving. In that moment, I didn't notice even the subtle threads of silk, only the perfection of this little creature weaving. Miraculous!