There are times when the forest is so dense and so foreboding that it seems to me that there is no light at all, nothing, but a thick cloak of ivy that coils around and chokes the tall trees that loom overhead and down deep down within the bowels of the thorny undergrowth, obstacles appear and hamper the path that needs, at all costs, to be traversed. The desire to reach the other side where the light is promised dispels the inconvenience the forest path presents.
The path winds and dips and can lose direction without a warning. I stand in bewilderment and wipe my weary bones down with a cloth of scarlet silk but the silk resists my weariness. I struggle with decision. Which way to go? What is the right path? Where is the place for me to settle and rest? Sometimes the trees swish and sway and speak and soothe but mostly they tumble as if in a storm. The undergrowth hides life that I have not discovered and from my stance in the forest I am intimidated and judgmental. I scorn the unseen. I look for the light that is common to me, the one I understand. For a moment, or many moments, timeless ones, I stop and suddenly see my son running away from me into the undergrowth. I shout out, ''no, don't go there, be wary, danger lies there,'' but he does not heed me and runs with abandon into the thickest bramble, the thorniest branch and I stop in my tracks because his face reveals more than I have ever had. It beckons me forward. I hesitate. My fear solidifies within my being. His arms are spread open, his hair catches the light. His face. His face.