Two spiders and a honey bee

Yesterday I was sitting on my porch, and the sun was low in the sky. I noticed a honey bee flying low, and he slowly landed right into a spider’s web. Two spiders rushed in for the attack. I felt so bad for him watching him struggle, that I reached for a piece of bamboo to fish him out. The larger spider would not give up the fight. The honey bee caught in his web still was spinning round and round. I could hear him buzzing and buzzing in distress. I took my water, and doused both. They fell through the cracks of the deck into a deep dark dungeon to both likely meet their deaths. I felt really bad. Initially I was scared, and tried to help. Maybe sometimes you just have to let nature take its course?

Then today the same scenario hits again…but goes a little further. Serendipity, and/or a reason to sit here and ponder the meaning of life!?

Today I was listening to the Sword and Scale Podcast number 90. The Spider and the Fly. Here is the poem below…

The Spider and The Fly: A Fable

by Mary Howitt


“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “To ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They NEVER, NEVER WAKE again, who sleep upon YOUR bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment dear, you shall behold yourself.”
I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning NOW, I’ll call ANOTHER day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her crested head – POOR FOOLISH THING! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Which makes me wonder… did the fly or honey bee want to meet his untimely death.  Did he want something the spider could give him? Was it the same for the honey bee?Was he like…screw this queen. I am OVER IT! I just really fuck up his whole idea??? Granted in the podcast they are speaking of a journalist (Claudia Rowe) searching her own soul via serial interviews with a serial killer (Kendall Francois) …BUT she and he are representative of the spider and the fly as she says.  They both had something to offer each other. The murderer got his company, and the journalist got her story. She actually could see where one can get really fucked up, and see how murdering or hurting people is thought to be “okay”. I met a man who counseled Charles Manson. He said that if Manson hadn’t had been a product of the juvenile detention system from a young age, and been surrounded by the perfect storm in the desert shortly thereafter that he likely wouldn’t have formed a mass murdering cult. Could be true? Mental illness could also play a large factor. Well it does in fact. But religion and occultism also played a part in this. Whole other can of worms. I digress.

Point is… maybe between yesterdays event, and the podcast today I learned something new.

Learning when to meddle can be a fine line. Sometimes you can makes things a lot worse, and sometimes you can come out golden with a full belly, rich with happiness. But when you think you are saving someone, are you really saving them?

That is the question…

-K.K. Powell

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The end of the day

At the end of the day.

There is nothing more to say.

Be grateful for what came with ease.

Wash away any thoughts which brought you to your knees.

Because at the end of the day…

It is only the self which you really need to please.

-K.K. Powell