I continued my stroll along the corridor trying to recall the moment when that man seized me from the street and hauled me to the ambulance. I jogged my memory but that spot was blank. Not even a shadow or a flash of light. So I started to work on that blank spot and made up a story of my own, turning my saviour into a godly figure, godlier than Ceausescu and his Communist Kingdom, godlier than Iliescu and his Army of Miners. I imagined him carrying me away from danger wobbling on his feet and praying to God to keep me alive for one more minute. The man I just ignored earlier put his life in danger to save mine, a life of a total stranger. When had I ever done that for somebody? Never. And suddenly I remembered the day when I had stopped killing spiders. It was nothing compared to saving the life of a human being, but knowing how many spiders could have become my victims and they haven’t, made me feel that I was not totally lost. The nurse was passing from one ward to the other turning her head often to make sure she hadn’t lost me. I was there, right behind her, thinking about spiders.
I had killed spiders since as far as I could get back in time. I had always seen them as intruders into my own space, a family of dangerous insects that populated the world just to give us a freaky feeling of threat. They were poisonous and creepy and I had killed them with pleasure. Until one day when I came across the father of all spiders. I saw it from the distance, a dominant presence within a hole in the fence working hard to finish up one of the most mysterious works of architecture I had ever witnessed with my naked eye: the birth of a cobweb. I watched the entire process for long minutes, and the more I did, the more I wanted to understand how that was possible. How come a tiny insect like that could be capable of creating such an awesome feat of engineering? The conclusion was simple: They were populating the world to inspire us. Their silent presence sent us a subtle message that each and every one of us can create something awesome. Each of us has a true talent that waits to be revealed, a talent that makes us special and unique in this world.
That day when I parted with the spider I felt useless, guilty and ashamed. Was there anything as clever, mysterious and accurate that I could create so I could compete with the skills of that insect? No. So how could I dare to crush it under my foot like you crash a cigarette butt and even get satisfaction out of that? It passed years since I watched that spider spinning its web and every time I come across one that lands on my hand or in my hair, I always do the same. I take it in my palm and let it drop in a safe place hoping that one day a child will see it at work and get as exhilarated as I was once by the mystery behind his work.
We probably save each other’s lives not because we know or love each other, but for a reason as simple as keeping this mystery alive. We are here to continue something that has no beginning and no end and we do that together, humans, insects and beasts, competing in an eternal present in which things are happening purely to reveal an amazing but terrifying potential, which is nothing else but our drive to show each other what a wonderful world we can create together. That day as I trotted lightly behind my nurse I decided that working at increasing our potential was central to the reason why we were all here. People, spiders, and all the rest were just details.
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