Bread Crumbs.

A carpet of leaves layers this way and that, imprinting one upon another, upon another, trailing back to the trunk of the tree, a reminder of where they came from, the origin of their beginning.

The Bear Trap.

     Babies and animals have similar characteristics. They eat if hungry, roar when angry, and hide if frightened. It is instinctual to burrow into a corner and play dead when under threat, the action further verified if it works—the attacker leaves or is unable to do further harm. A baby, just like a prey animal, will carry these types of instructional memories with them as they age, running from predators, hiding when possible, fighting if necessary, and burning the experiences into the reptilian part of the brain to further enhance survival skills. By the time the baby becomes a teenager and morphs into an adult, this is no longer theory, but a hardwired truth. A + B = C. More easily grasped minus the algebra; if a bear trap snaps on the neck of a young girl and it finally releases after decades of existence, there is no understanding of being set free. The sharp talons of the mechanism feel embedded even when they are gone, nerve endings still sense danger and pain, terror coiled into a corner under a bed in the dead of night for eternity.

     A bear trap is used for hunting a prey animal, not to kill but to maim. The reason being that if a trapped animal dies too soon, the body will decompose and the meat will be useless. Similarly, an abuser ensnares a child and sets them up for repeat offenses. It is a bear trap snapping around a child’s neck, the pronged collar keeping them pinned for future use.

     Fingering the throat, an ache of decades of restriction is sensed from distant and unfamiliar places. We are still for a very long time, waiting for the sound of the snap to stop echoing in the wind.

Be Wild

     The heart of a young girl, one on the brink of flying is a wild thing, a frothy cyclone swirling on the edge of magnificence, her power un-leashed and un-contained. There is joy, rage, despair, exuberance; along with non-conflicted choice. Tastes are claimed and tossed with equal abandon for reasons that make sense to no one but the cyclone. If a bear trap snaps on the neck of this wild thing, it will thrash until the connection between mind and heart is severed, leaving emotional knowing impossible.

      An ancient bear trap springs open in the Great Sea of Nothing, rust flakes lay scattered across a gaping wound, as nerve endings stutter-flutter for reattachment. The wild thing does not move, unsure if the hunter is nearby or can sense motion. Inside, her cyclone is restrained, having been pinned for a very long time. The young girl hears two words through the ocean sound of nothing.

Be wild.

Scribbles.

     The brain of a newborn is an empty beach devoid of shells, seaweed, or plastic bottles; the sand pristine, no random etchings of screw you violence, nothing to lay claim to childlike wonder. It is the overseers, those tasked with socializing a child, teaching them red means stop and green means go that first and most significantly carve emblems into a blank surface. The privilege of mentoring a new human should have the same cautionary care necessary as artists carving the statue of David or painting the Mona Lisa, but often instead it is handled with the unthinking application of a weed-wacker and a jackhammer.