Lotus Child

Woodlands

schooled in treacherous terrains

BY HEERA

January 1st, 2021

 

“What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made
to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.”

— Nelson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid revolutionary

 

January 1st, 2021

Via official communication

 

The FBI Director

935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW

Washington, D.C.

 

Dear Mr Director,

Eighteen years ago, I wouldn’t have realised to what extent our paths are mapped out. For me, the year 2002 was defining—it ushered my arrival to the United States of America and educated me with the departure of the late Laci Peterson, who was brutally murdered by her husband, Scott Peterson—he had successfully advertised his image as exceptionally charming, polite, helpful and caring, winning the society’s defence of him—a convicted murderer on death row.

Over the years I learned that we don’t necessarily set out to diligently master wisdom and intellect, and neither do they develop by walking on autopilot through a perfectly pruned garden or riding in the safe confines of a car. Instead, the universe picks conscientiously nurtured foundations, only to dislodge and catapult them—repeatedly, without respite—into life’s treacherous circumstances—to test their resilience and build their intellect and wisdom.

Prompted by accidental forays into frightening forests, an individual is compelled to endure every imaginable form of demon and actively navigate (like a stealthy cat, and cats do have nine lives…) dangerous woodlands—escape needle twigs, steer clear of poison ivy, duck below low branches, gauge the earth beneath, and tackle the unexpected wild. In the deafening silence and pitch-darkness of the forest, one’s awareness of life is heightened, guiding one to tune in with their radar, all the while developing wisdom and intellect.

Preoccupied, I treaded through the woodlands, stumbling upon glimmers of light filtering through dense-dark woods. The cascading stream of light revealed a delicate butterfly. I stopped in my tracks, not wanting to alarm the beautiful creature. My initial delight quickly turned into a bloodhound like alarm: Why was the butterfly nearly static? Cautiously, I inched forward. A closer inspection revealed transparent silken-glimmering threads—it was a spider’s web.

A venomous spider had set a trap to capture the unsuspecting passer-by. The long-wandering spider’s operations are similar to that of an outwardly non-threatening photographer who hoodwinks society by expertly employing his craft to produce empathetic and inspiring photographs, a result of mimicking empathy.

I was appalled at the deadly spider’s web weaving, and resolutely watched the twisted spider perform laboriously; it was revolting. Even more alarming is that these otherwise lone wolf-aggressive spiders, maintain spider colonies, where other spiders, all with monstrous appetites, work together to capture their prey. This silent predatory activity had to be captured. Fortunately, accustomed to giddily capturing and sadistically destroying its prey, the writhing spider(s) couldn’t conceive being captured.

Trembling at the sight of the ruthless spider(s), I prayed for a miracle to happen; it did—the exhausted, terrified butterfly broke free—gliding up toward the light, the gossamer particles of her shredded wings merging with the sparkling particles of sun rays, as though lifted by divine powers. Every being of the butterfly conveyed: Though in the darkness I was physically visible, appearing free, in many ways, I was a captive. Today, I am, in the true sense, free, returning to the light.

Mr Director, I cried; I cried tears of relief and joyI couldn’t help but wonder the plight of the naïve, gentle butterfly—to be destroyed by one violent spider had to be unbearable, but to be repeatedly pummeled by the second spider and the third spider, must have been akin to enduring the gas chambers.

Eighteen years on from Laci’s departure, as I navigated through the woods, I heard of Jennifer Dulos, who went missing on May 24, 2019. Later her husband, Fotis Dulos, was arrested and charged with capital punishment for murdering his wife, Jennifer Dulos. Soon after Fotis Dulos (typical of…) committed suicide.

History had repeated.

We must always remember Laci and Jennifer, similar to not forgetting the Holocaust. But remembering is not enough. We must learn; we must apply.

Thank you for your attention.

Heera, The Ascending Acorn

 

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