Volume 6, Issue 10, page 3

By ALBERTA ELLIOTT
N FRONT of me sat a human, feeling
lost, and waiting for me to help disentangle his threads of life.

A little spider dropped from the
ceiling and proceeded to attach himself to an object on the table. I
reached out and cut his line, and the
little spider landed on the table.

Being a running spider, which finds
what he needs as he goes along rather
than a web spider which finds a corner
and waits for his needs to come his way,
this little fellow ran to the corner of
the table and immediately attached another thread.

I knocked on the table, and he fell
off, but went on spinning and letting out
his thread. Back he ran up his own line.
I again knocked on the table, and again
he fell off, this time allowing himself
more rope. He swung for a moment or two,
then started back to his last attachment.
I detached his line from the table, and
he fell to the floor. In a second, he was
busy attaching another line to the table
leg. He wasn't feeling lost, since he
knew that his substance came from himself. He did not allow the quality of his
line to be changed by outside interference, and he recognized innumerable
points he could contact, all within easy
reach. His world was unlimited.

The human in front of me didn't believe he had spun the web he was in, nor
that the substance came from him, and he
was so out of touch with the world that
he could not conceive of new points of
contact within his reach. He was wildly
searching other people's lines to hang
onto, while calling for help from someone
to repair his web.

He was thru using his own substance.