THE CHILD AND THE SERPENT

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I couldn’t recall where I knew him from, but there was a certain familiarity about him. He seemed to be of a mixed race, with predominantly Asian features. He was relatively reserved and mysterious. We danced. Our synchronicity was natural, we connected like a hand to a glove. There was a sense of a third person in the room watching us, so we were not alone.
Next we were in bed, a couple of feet away from each other, trying to fall asleep. I was restless and craved his closeness. It felt as if he was watching me from the corner of his eye, but kept his distance. And then from behind the bunched up part of the blanket laying on my chest the brown fluffy head of a spider emerged and I tensed up in fear. It was quite close to my face and was crawling out towards me on the blanket. I tried to move the blanket off my chest but I was frozen in terror and started screaming. As always, when I have nightmares, my voice got somehow muted and my screaming was near silent, although the effort was there. He was half asleep and half acknowledging what was happening, then reluctantly reached out his arm towards me. I tried to grab it, while continuing my almost voiceless and motionless struggle to escape, and I think eventually it all passed, and I was sobbing on his arm.

That’s all I remembered when I woke up. I was shaken and the pain was still flashing in my chest. I turned on the light, sat on the side of the bed and thought about the dream. I haven’t had nightmares for a while, but I have never ever had arachnophobia or spider-related dreams in my life, and this was unexpected and out of line. I was absolutely terrified of that spider and I had no clue what triggered such an unusual fear. Then it occurred to me that it must have something to do with him. The guy in the dream was in a way his embodiment in another form. I remembered that right before going to sleep I was reading about the recent gofundme project a friend started that he was also part of, and his name popped up several times, as well as his words… Every time I see his name, it triggers me and the buried pain resurfaces. Months have gone by without any contact with him, and days if not weeks without even recalling his existence. I have made a conscious effort to erase his memory as much as possible, after I deleted our conversations. And yet I am being triggered every time I come across anything that reminds me of him. Even our common friends. Unbelievable… I remember vaguely that at some point during our… drama?… he said I am not going anywhere, you will always see me around… He meant the dance community. I didn’t make much of that at the time, and definitely didn’t realize the weight of that truth. I don’t think he did, either…

Our relating was like that of a child cradling a serpent. Young children are known not to be afraid of snakes. The child is drawn to the beauty of the serpent and plays with it, unsuspectingly. Then eventually the snake bites the child. It is not out of evil. Snakes don’t bite to harm, they bite to defend themselves. The child is injured and cries, but doesn’t quite understand the situation, and once the pain subsides a bit, she crawls after the serpent…she wants to play some more. She cradles it, and marvels at it, plays with it and then she gets bitten again. Serpent slithers away, child cries, child calms down, looks for the serpent and the cycle repeats itself. Until she makes the connection and is hurt so much, that she finally develops an aversion to the serpent and starts avoiding it. In a way, that is what happened… His poison – that is not malicious, only dangerous and painful – has caused lasting damage, and has never really left me. Will it ever?…


Author: thelastdestination

“The closer you come to knowing that you alone create the world of your experience, the more vital it becomes for you to discover just who is doing the creating.” - Eric Micha'el Leventhal “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” - Albert Einstein _________________________________ A little piece of my illusion, my reality. Some of my posts are reality and some are fiction, but regardless, they are my own reality. Writing is when I get intimate with my spiritual and intellectual self. And as in any type of intimacy, there is exploring, experimentation and constant discoveries that aim to elevate the pleasures associated with it. Getting in touch with myself again, after years of self-oblivion and denial was unknowingly inspired by a friend and fellow writer. Thank You.

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