FEAR

FEAR

By: John Kazerooni

Once upon a time, in a quiet mountain forest, a gentle deer lived in peace. She ran through meadows of wildflowers, the warm sun touched her back, streams sparkled beneath her feet, and birds sang sweet songs above. Her life was calm, joyful, and full of beauty.

At the same time, not far away, lived a large snake and a gorilla. They too lived in peace and harmony with nature. For many years, the deer and the gorilla peacefully shared the forest. She grazed in sunlit clearings while the gorilla moved among the trees, collecting fruits and leaves.

Sometimes the deer would watch the gorilla playfully nudging a branch or gently rolling in the grass, and she would rest nearby, feeling safe. Occasionally, the gorilla would glance at her with quiet curiosity, and she would continue grazing without worry. The forest was alive with peace, sunlight, and calm. Those were years of trust and harmony, where every sound—the rustle of leaves, the song of a bird, the babbling of a stream—felt safe and welcoming.

Then one day, the large snake came to the deer and spoke in a soft, friendly voice. “Be careful of the gorilla,” it said. “He is dangerous. Stay close to me, and I will protect you.” The deer had never feared the gorilla before, but the snake kept talking. It told stories about how the gorilla was watching her, waiting for the right moment to attack. The snake said, “Trust me. I will keep you safe.” It made up stories about how dangerous the gorilla was and how she needed to keep her distance from him.

Slowly, fear began to take root in the deer’s mind. Every sound that had once been comforting now startled her. When the gorilla stretched to pick a fruit, she imagined it lunging at her. When he stepped carefully along a branch, she thought he was moving with quiet menace. The rustle of leaves, once a gentle whisper of wind, now sounded like heavy footsteps closing in. The babbling stream seemed to ripple with shadows, hiding unseen dangers. Her legs shook as she stepped lightly across the grass. Her ears twitched at every sound; a falling leaf or a snapping twig felt like a signal of imminent attack. Her heart raced, her breaths came short, and a cold dread filled her chest. Even sunlight through the trees seemed sharp and suspicious. The deer’s mind, once peaceful and joyful, became a prison of imagined horrors, and terror consumed her every thought.

The deer spoke aloud, trembling, “If I stay near you, I will be safe.” The snake smiled and spoke gently, praising her for being careful and assuring her that it would protect her. It coiled near her but not too close, pretending to offer warmth and safety. The deer trusted the snake completely and began to follow its advice.

The snake’s plan was simple—create fear, win trust, and strike when the time was right.

Time passed, and the gorilla never harmed the deer. Still, she stayed near the snake, believing she was safe.

Then a famine came. The once-green forest turned dry and empty. Streams slowed to a trickle, and fruits withered on the branches. Food became scarce, and both the deer and the snake grew weak and desperate. Hungry and confused, the deer stayed closer and closer to the snake, seeking comfort and warmth from the only one she trusted. The snake saw her exhaustion and fear and knew the moment had come. As she leaned close, trembling, the snake struck.

In an instant, the deer’s trust became her end. The forest fell silent.

The gorilla, the one she feared most, had never meant her harm. It was her own fear, shaped by the snake’s lies, that destroyed her. The sunlight and joy she once knew were gone.

Some of us are like the deer. We often fear things that are not real because someone tells us to be afraid and we believe them blindly. 

And some people are like the snake. They speak softly, promise safety, and warn us about dangers that do not exist. They make us believe in false threats so they can control us and take advantage of us.

When fear guides us, we stop thinking clearly. We make choices not for truth, but against what we are told to fear. Unfortunately, the real danger is not always the one we see; it is often the one we trust.

Fear blinds us, and hate blinds us even more.

True strength comes from seeing clearly. If we are not careful, we may become like the deer—gentle in heart, yet destroyed by fear and misplaced trust. Let us choose truth instead of fear, and clarity instead of comfort. Only then can we live freely and wisely.

The gorilla walks on, untouched by hate. The snake rests, full from its lies. And the forest remembers that illusion is the shadow we create ourselves.

As we think about this story, we might ask ourselves: How often are our fears based on illusion instead of truth? Do some people or leaders take advantage of our fears, just as the snake did with the deer? Are we too quick to see danger where there is none? How much of what we believe is shaped by the stories we hear or the voices we trust? What happens when fear becomes stronger than hope? And finally, how can we learn to see the world as it truly is—before another snake returns to feed again?

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