Daughter of the Web: Remembering the Womb of Creation

There are memories we carry because we understand them, and memories we carry because they continue to ask something of us.

What happened to me beneath Mount Uritorco belongs to the second kind.

I did not go to Argentina expecting to descend into a mountain, confront something that terrified me, or experience what felt like my own death and rebirth. I only knew that something had begun nine months earlier in Egypt, and when another invitation came, I felt called to follow it.

In February of 2022, my husband, Ruben, and I had traveled to Egypt to participate in a series of planetary ceremonies led by Matías De Stefano. Matías speaks about the Earth as a living organism, with energetic pathways and centers that mirror, in some ways, the anatomy of the human body. Within that framework, we gathered at sacred places not simply because of their history. We were placing our own bodies, voices, and intentions at specific points on the Earth as participants in a much larger living system.

Egypt represented one pole of that work.

Matías associated Egypt with the Voice and the higher centers of the planet—a place where memory, intention, and information could be received and expressed. During the 2/22/22 gathering, thousands of people participated around the world while groups gathered along the Nile and at Giza. The intention, as I understood it, was to awaken ancient memory and bring a new pattern into the planetary field.

But receiving a pattern was only half of the work.

An idea cannot remain in the mind forever. Eventually it has to enter the body.

That was Argentina.

Later that year, Matías began a journey through Argentina, starting in the far south and moving through the Andes. In his planetary map, this great mountain range forms part of the Kundalini, or energetic spine, of the Earth. If Egypt had acted like an antenna—receiving and transmitting—Argentina would become the grounding point, bringing what had been opened in the higher centers down into matter, into the body of the Earth.

I began to think of the two journeys as parts of a single circuit: Egypt above, Argentina below. Voice and body. Intention and embodiment. What had been opened now needed somewhere to land.

Eventually that journey brought us to Capilla del Monte, a small town resting beneath Cerro Uritorco.

And here the story became stranger.

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Uritorco has long been surrounded by stories of unusual lights, encounters, and a mysterious presence known as ERKS—*Encuentro de Remanentes Cósmicos Siderales*, or “Meeting of Cosmic Sidereal Remnants.”

Within the teachings surrounding ERKS, the Remnants are described as carriers of memory—beings or souls associated with civilizations and ancient conflicts extending beyond Earth, including stories connected with Orion. ERKS is therefore spoken of not simply as a hidden city, but as a kind of sanctuary or archive: a place where memory was preserved so that what had once been broken would not have to be repeated.

Did I understand all of this literally? No. There were parts I understood intellectually, parts I felt intuitively, and others I simply held with curiosity.

But one idea stayed with me:

What survives carries memory.

That mattered because the work in Argentina was ultimately about bringing memory into the body—taking something that had been received and allowing it to become embodied.

At the time, I thought we were doing that for the Earth.

I didn't yet understand that the Earth was about to do it through me.

Each sunrise began with a beautiful ceremony. Hundreds of people stood in the valley beneath Uritorco, wrapped in blankets, our breath rising into the cold air as the sky slowly softened.

Before any chanting began, the Four Directions were invoked. Elders and representatives from different South American cultures stepped forward, each carrying their own lineage and traditions. The Elements were called in—Earth, Water, Air, Fire—and permission was asked from the mountain itself. Offerings of coca leaves, flowers, and water were placed gently upon the soil for Pachamama.

Then the silence would break.

The sound of the pututu—the conch shell—pierced the morning air. It was a deep, vibrating call that did not feel like sound alone, but like something entering the bones. Horns followed, and the valley seemed to answer.

Then all of us raised our voices, breathing as one:

Yo Soy… Yo Soy… Yo Soy…”

I Am.

Something in me began to soften during those mornings. The repetition of breath. The vibration in my chest. The spirals of people moving around us. I felt my body aligning to something I could not see.

The mountain no longer felt like landscape. It felt like presence.

By the third morning, I could sense something gathering inside me—not dramatic or overwhelming, but steady, like pressure building beneath still water.

I did not yet know that I would lay my head.

I did not know that I would descend into the mountain.

And I could never have imagined what would be waiting for me there.

The Earth Receives Me

During one sunrise ceremony, I felt compelled to place my forehead directly upon the Earth and lay my open palms flat against the ground. Even though everyone else was standing, and I feared someone might step on my fingers, I followed the impulse.

A sensation entered me, and tears streamed down my face to mingle with the soil beneath my brow, forming a small puddle of mud. Then, in a vision as vivid as waking life, I found myself walking a quiet path in the foothills of Mount Uritorco.

The colors of the earth, the sounds of nature, and the fresh mountain air filled me with gratitude. As I walked, I encountered a majestic tree with branches reaching to the sky. From inside the tree emerged a figure I could never have expected—a deer-man, with antlers mirroring the limbs of the tree. I felt awe.

In silence, he invited me to ride with a nod of his head, leaping swiftly down a steep, rocky canyon, urging me not to fear the dizzying speed.

The Descent into the Mountain

At the canyon’s end, the deer-man stopped before a dark opening—a tunnel leading into the mountain. Though I could see nothing, I chose to enter.

What followed was a confrontation with fear and wonder beyond anything I had ever known.

A terror gripped me. My gaze locked upward into eyes that were not human.

She—Spider Queen—had twelve eyes encircling her head like a crown. Her fangs, gleaming and terrifying, hovered inches from my face.

Waves of nausea surged through me—primal and ancestral. I felt the fear of generations pour through me, and every cell in my body screamed. But then, something shifted.

Locked in her gaze, I felt the ancestral fear begin to melt. Love began to pour into me from her eyes. I saw the sacred in her: her exquisite strength, her superior sensitivity to vibration, her swift ability to move in any direction, her silent stealth.

Like the tree and the mountain, I admired her every detail as a symmetry of expression—so very exquisite! She, Mountain Spider Queen, became far—far—superior to me in her beauty. My understanding transmuted into truth.

What had first surged as ancestral terror, born from the bones of my lineage, dissolved.

In its place flowed something else—Love. Rich, warm, and undeserved.

I saw myself through her many eyes: soft, fleshy, breakable, slow… and yet loved. Loved without measure. Loved because I am part of the web.

Crowned by the Mother

Next, the Spider Queen—radiant in her majesty—stepped forward. Her stinger pierced the soft roof of my mouth and rose upward, entering my third eye. Not to harm… but to crown. She folded herself gently atop my head, becoming the Spider Crown— legs like branches, eyes like jewels— a living coronation.

Then the spiders came—so many, many, many. They carried me, touching me with their legs like whispers, weaving. The darkness became outlined with energy, and my vision changed. I could see the contours of the tunnel walls as if lit by an electromagnetic glow.

I thought to myself: this must be how a spider sees. And now… I saw with spider eyes.

And then—the Birth.

I was squeezed. Compressed. The breath pressed from my lungs as if bones were gates. And then, I emerged as a baby spider, blinking up at the birth canal of my giant spider mother.

In awe of her and the gift of life she had given me, I looked upward at my beloved mother.

How I longed to keep her—to stay with her! I felt a great, deep love for her. As that I had just seen the most beautiful being of all creation.

Tears flooded down my face, to be in the presence of such raw, pure beauty.

But in that moment, I knew, formidably and without question: She would die after giving birth to me. She was giving her life to me—even of her physical body. I wept to feel her love.

She, a living sacrifice. And so, with trembling reverence, I took a bite—not out of hunger, but of love. Weeping, I partook of Her flesh that I might live—and honor her by my living.

The Web and the Message

Again, the spiders came—so many, many spiders—rubbing their hair-covered legs against me as they carried me.

They brought me to a grand, glistening web with threads that hummed with vibration, stretched across worlds unseen.

They placed me at the center. A spider crown upon my head. Eyes glistening like stars.

And a voice whispered through the silk: “You are in incubation. Rest. The weaving begins soon.”

Remembrance

This story is for all of us, for it is the story of creation.

Each one, crowned. That is you!

For we are the children of the gods.

If you hold spider energy, it is the ancestors from your DNA who speak to you—the reverence of the stories forgotten.

We are eternally made by Manique, Mother Spider—Creator, the Weaver of the Universe, the Connector of All.

Her Womb is Creation. You are born by Her—our beloved Eternal Mother.

Remember. Remember. Remember—the sacred path for remembering…

The Eternal Beloved Mother.

Manik