~Hood~

A deeper reflection of the fairytales we know best. We begin with Red Riding Hood.

When the apple of your eye…falls from a grapefruit tree…

She was going...she was coming...she was there. Not that she forgot, but perhaps, it had slipped her vision - this wolf had seduced her yet again. That same wolf...she read about him in the Book of Revelations, and rumor once told of his vices. He was the one who snatched innocent lambs from a fold of Little Bo Peep. He was the one who would sleep behind bushes to make guest appearance...whenever a boy cried his name. He...he's not afraid of slander, nor profanity and savors the sweet stench of bacchanal pitched behind his character...swept under a mat-ter that conceals both doubt and fears of townsfolk.

She...remembers how mama spoke about his wit, and how he would sit upon a throne crafted by the name earned through his practice. And...how he tricked Alice to believing that rabbits dig deeper holes than desire. He made a living on the wages of sinful satire, and his breath could topple a house build upon sand. And now, he's poised in the frills of a young lady's dress to give impression of him...being a grapefruit vendor. He knows...that grandma would not relish a life without her grapefruit juice to quench thirst of midday heat. It's market morning and this girl's feet are thudding like thunder claps upon tracks of dirt, whose courses meander their way towards catch-cottage. A crow perched upon third level branch of old oak, would catch footage of match making dialogue. Were it not citrus for pick-of-the-day, she would find no trust of his actions...but a glance towards brim-filled basket steals breath of her's. Now she's taking a chance with obsession, oblivious to the fact that she's staking...her life on a fruit basket. And he watches her...climb into a casket of persuasion, carved by the battering blink of his eyelids. Subtly, he agrees that grandma would like this, and his conscience conceives, a way to trick this...geriatric out of bed...out of room...out of house...and between his jaws.

It is half past the hour, but a pause of fleeting seconds won’t suffice to relish flavored fruit. This is no time for penny pushing, sweet talking, deal making…but she…still procrastinating…thinking twice before she makes final verdict. He…expected her to waver, so he tapers prices to convince a penny-less buyer. Lack of common-sensecents alone would cause her to falter, but this was always a trick he used to test mettle. She…decides to settle for a half-priced, two-for-one spiced up bargain. Her skin exudes a stench of half-ripe innocence, mixed in with aroma of…fresh virgin meat – fleshed-out ignorance makes…a feast for his senses.

No sooner her purchase than the sky gets aggravated…agitated mass of gray…swollen saturated and…dispenses pent up grudges – first one drop, then two. By instinct, she knew this meant departure time, so expending what’s left of her gratitude, she makes off. He bids farewell, but not without noting…

Why she’s here…

Where she’s going…

When she’s leaving…

What she’s wearing…

Now…his eyes caress the contours of her being, vision tracing

Every line…

Every curve…

Every projection …

Indentation

And counting…every step to strand of hair given sway to melody of rustic winds. Alas, Mr. Predator has found prey. By now, he knows this girl like the stains of his repute, built by stacks of rumor that made…a ladder he climbed to call himself “head of pack”, and talk-of-townsfolk would say he was…always a stalker. 10 minutes later, she’s knocking at grandma’s door.

Crooked voice of old woman beckons her in. She makes a spin towards cottage kitchen to set fruit, and swift toes tapping cross-floor movement vow to not disturb an old woman at rest. She would confess now that her eyes fed doubt that the figure between bedsheets was actually…“grandma”?

GRANDMA?

“How…b-big your eyes are!”

“Spectacles dear…all the b-better to see you.”

“How large your ears are!”

“All the b-better to hear you.”

“And…how sh-sharp your teeth are!”

“Well, dear…all the better to…ssssssslice-you-open-to-diced up gashes, gut-you-down-without-knife and chew…grind star dust-to-moon-ashes and spit…season out…..”

Suspense now turn to horror. That girl run like the wind eat pepper, slam through back door to porch-backyard and scream like is opera audition. A shrill voice catches grandma’s attention, so she leaves breadfruit and pumpkin vine hangin…dash to backdoor to see this girl’s condition…and she wonders what in Wonderland is happening. She make a sprint towards grandma…and this wolf snapping just two feet behind her. Call it a climax of clauses, but silence falls dead when a man takes focus…and everything pauses…

*Enter man of the house*

“What d hell is all this raucous??‼”

“Help!...daddy help me!”

Yuh see…Mr. Wolf didn’t know…she was Robin Hood’s daughter. That man pull arrow from quiver like sword, stitch wood with iron to pack bow-flexed ready…set…go, strike silver speed pitch like d sun on fire…bun dat wolf , and brimstone still to come. He still not done with this traitor yet, pot could spill fury down a gutter…mercy begs of this wolf but Mr. Hood won’t buy it. He would have to fit…shame into a bottle and wear it like a lady in a frock…and he’s done that before. So…Hood prepares to settle score, moves in for a kill, point vantage…hill crowd gathers and village jury plays judge…pronounce him guilty.

This is where sea meets sand to spell tide of bacchanal. Wolf is down, but not out-of-wit. The first mortal wounds to his character, would cause him to spit blood from an arrow that sits deep into…the belly of this beast. Crowd hears confession that he…was culprit behind death of Hood’s wife…Rose Red. He say…she was dead before he even caught her…and…how the next of lineage would be…a daughter of her own. So…the crowd is armed and ready to stone this bastard, but the girl decide to speak up.

She say “Let him live”…

Crowd say… “WHAT?”

“Let him live”…Crowd say…“BUT…”

“Just let him live!”

Crowd fall silent.

Father shout “HELL NO!”

The whole crowd in disbelief. Mr. Wolf can’t help but grin, though nobody quite sure whether it’s relief of whether he playin…skin-teeth tactic. But the girl would persist over the vexed utterance of a bacchanal town that calls her…anti-climactic. Mr Hood was already poised to strike and restraint was foreign to his character. Somehow, he manage to buckle the belt of self-controlled anger…and stops to ask her…“Why”? This was air to speak…she never had this before. Town knew her only as backdoor-princess, caged-up little Miss-Hushed-Up-Cosset. 16 years of that and she finally decide to come out of the closet…stand up…wise up…look daddy in the face and say…“Forgive him, father, for he knows not what he does.”

Crowd is speechless.

“Yuh see, dad, my hood was stained red by the blood of Christ, my conscience washed in the water of life…and the village could only see a canine offender, but me?...all I see is a…grapefruit vendor tryin to make a livin. I might be wrong but…I still givin him a chance to change, repent and rearrange his life. ‘Cause everyone who claim they “righteous” claimin rights and the “just” playin judge in high position. But truth is…we all have transgressions of our own…so…who here without sin…let him cast d first stone.”

She expected father to scold her, but he can’t believe his daughter was outspoken. Shame mixed in with pride, would only cause him to open his arms…to embrace her. Mr Wolf slips away between a moment of affection…and the crowd could only render their…choked-up indifference. Not a damn soul would question her now, and one by one they fade like the sun-settin sky. Half ah dem forgettin that revenge more bitter than humble pie…and justice is really just-ice in a cooler.

Self-injury and Self-death

Man.....the same proud, egocentric being who once thought the sun revolved around him, is surprisingly withdrawn when it comes to issues of the self. An unlikely paradox, but understandable with a moment's thought. The inner self is by far the most preciously guarded aspect of all human existence. And why not? The greatest gifts we possess in life - who we are, and what we truly are (or what we percieve ourselves to be) are all held within. So prized is our inner self, that we often refrain from speaking about it, or try our best to mask all that it truly contains.
But let us for a moment break that fear of revealing self...and delve into the depths to examine the matters that lie within. I’ll show you why:
When we are in harmony with ourselves, and with the environment around us, we acquire a state of inner peace. This peace allows us to engage our full potential IN and OF life, and it is there that we find the confidence and security to fulfill our greatest dreams and aspirations without fear, doubt or harm. But along our journey through life, we all face problems, stresses and adverse circumstances that affect the innermost core of our being. What becomes of us in future depends on how we choose to treat with these influences.
Like our physical self, the intangible inner self has an amazing capacity to adapt to various stresses and harsh circumstances we face on a daily basis. It is not surprising, then, that our inner self responds in a similar manner to our physical body when these stresses go too far…and that brings us to a critical factor in self existence – self injury.

SELF-INJURY

Often, we push the adaptive limits of our inner self way beyond the boundary of what it can handle. When we allow our inner problems – our fears, hurts, anxieties, lost hopes, disappointments, grudges, grief or anger to take hold of ourselves for prolonged periods of time, we disappoint God, taint our future and deprive our inner selves of life. Eventually, our capacity to adapt to such inner hurt is exceeded, and the hurt itself becomes a poison to our being – a phenomenon known as self injury results. Think of self injury as an inner reflection of physical harm - inflicting damage to the flesh with a sharp knife. Whenever we choose to retain our hurts, we slash ourselves. The more hurt we retain, the more we inflict injury to our delicate inner core, and if left untreated with time, these wounds become deeper and wider…morphing into gaping gashes. But of course, no one takes pleasure in looking at an open wound – it’s unpleasant both to the victim and the observer. The result of this is self masking. Fearing that the inner wounds we bear would be exposed for the world to see, we desperately attempt to “bandage” these wounds. Some try to bandage by changing the physical self – the outer appearance and the material things of life. Others try to bandage by changing attitude, “wearing” it for all to see. Sometimes it is necessary to bandage, but for short periods of time, bearing in mind that a bandage does not fix the underlying cause of the wound itself. It only provides a nice dressing for elegant appearance, and is meant to assist the healing of a wound that has already been appropriately attended to. Why, then, do we place so much trust in the “bandages” we use to cover our inner wounds? Perhaps we sometimes feel powerless to face our injured self, or to conquer the cause of our wounds. Or perhaps we generate the false hope that our wounds will heal naturally with time…time that may never come.
But inner hurt is not all such a bad thing. The stresses we face inside can help us to grow stringer, to learn and to appreciate the greater things in life. There is no life without inner hurt, and at some point, we must all face the trials of self. But when unattended hurt goes rancid and morphs into our soul’s poison, we are starved of the very essence of life. The eventual result, then, is possibly the most critical phenomenon that affects the self – self death.

SELF-DEATH

Our deep seated wounds, left untreated, become inflamed and infected. When our internal capacity for repair and healing is exceeded, fragments of our injured self will die. As with many wounds of the flesh, these dead fragments of self will eventually heal over time into scars. It is most unfortunate that scarred fragments of our inner self cannot be renewed or revived – the process is irreversible. Meanwhile, we continue to trust in our bandages, unaware of the fact that we are self destructing. What will we do when our scars become so many, and our lives come crashing down? Where shall we run when we’ve got nothing left to absorb the pain within, and our souls whither away? And who can save us now, when we come to realize that the inner damage can’t be undone….when we lose all care for life, and nothing seems to matter anymore. It’s then that we shall see the truth…that we’ve allowed ourselves to die inside. But then, it’s obviously too late.

Our bodies are the medium through which achieve (or at least attempt to achieve) the greatest will and aspirations of our soul. We are the living self….a physical body has no purpose bearing a dead inner self. This is why the most explicit physical expression of self death is suicide. Anyone who has experienced self death will lose all care for life. A once cheerful individual suddenly becomes sullen, withdrawn, extremely angry or manically fearful. They may spontaneously lash out at others around them….even the ones they love, or may withdraw themselves into a surreal cocoon, attempting to isolate themselves from all life. In their world, all alone, they finally turn upon their physical selves, ending their physical lives and apparently deleting their own existence.

But it doesn’t have to be like this. The first step in healing our inner wounds is admitting to ourselves that there’s a problem. When we come to accept the fact that we are hurt inside, we can now take steps to do something about it. If only we would take a moment to accept and to find solutions to our problems, we can avoid self injury. If we have already sustained injury, then we must commit ourselves to finding the right cure for our wounds. No man is an island…..and often we need the support our friends, family and loved ones in healing our wounds, bearing in mind that there is no cure for a dead self - Then we won’t have to worry about covering up the unsightly wounds we bear inside.

Today, I will remove the bandage that covers my inner self, and I will find the right medication to heal my inner wounds.