Why a book read to me by my first grade teacher has stayed with me all these years is a true mystery. Books by Ayn Rand, the Brontë sisters, and Charles Dickens are all lodged somewhere in my subconscious, but seem to have left significantly less of an impression than this one book. How is that? What triggers such a strong reaction to a book read to a group of six year olds?
The Japanese folk tale "Kumo no Ito" or in English, "The Spider's Strand" as in the single strand of silk it ejects when getting from place to place, is a story about a spider (God) lowering one lone strand down to earth to bring up the good people into heaven. The good people of earth do indeed climb up, sharing the space single-file. Pleased, God the Spider decides to do this again, at which point a bad man climbs up the strand of spider silk kicking down those who try to make their way to heaven behind him. Displeased, God the Spider sends this bad man down into hell where the Japanese version of the devil, red, big, mean, surrounded by fire awaits this man.
That was all it took. Spiders and Hell were forever connected in my mind. Six year olds can be convinced of pretty much anything, and in my case this meant I began to believe spiders (God) some how have the power to send people to hell.
Fast-forward to the no longer six year old me, I don't actually believe spiders are that powerful, or that there's some yet to be proven connection between spiders and god. My point is broader than that. I walked into a single strand of spider silk last night, connecting the staircase bannister to the wall. I always find myself fascinated by the fact spiders actually get from point a to point b. Do they fly? Do they just float through air waiting to land on something? Spiders lowering themselves downward, that I can understand. It's this sideways movement, the strand that can measure many meters at times, how they do this is what confuses and fascinates me.
My fear of spiders and the horrible Japanese version of the devil all came back to me in that one instant as I frantically batted this strand off me. Knowing I would feel this strand on me the rest of the night in the same way I feel non-existent spiders on my skin all day when I find one crawling on me in the morning, the miracle of horizontal spider-flight, amazing as it is, would be overshadowed by the fact I would toss and turn trying to rid myself of the strand I just walked through. I really don't like spiders. I am not proud to say I scream and flail when I feel one me.
This latest spider-thread incident has brought back how much of what I grew up with, all that is buried in my psyche untapped and ignored, is still very much a part of me regardless of whether I give it any time or energy. Indeed, all it takes is walking into spider silk, and I'm taken back decades to the classroom where I trembled at the power of what is surely the evil called "Spider."
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