Archive for the ‘Tale-Teller’ Category

More Things are Lost and Found than Have ever Been (Part 3/?)

December 3, 2010

Once Upon a Time,
There was a girl.  She did not know herself, so she had many masks.  Some were happy, some were sad, and some were in-between or neither at all.  None of them were a perfect fit, but each was all right for a little while, so she was always finding more.  The masks could be heavy, but the girl kept them all, just in case an occasion came up requiring one or another.

One day the girl came across a mask that had once been very happy, or so it seemed.  She picked it up to look more closely at it, and was startled to see a crack running from brow to chin which gave the once jaunty countenance a careworn and serious expression when viewed fully.

The girl tried the mask on and it fit fairly well, so she took it with her when she left that place.


Lapins Leap for the Moon

May 3, 2010

How do you live when you believe you have died?
broken apart?
been picked clean by the wind?

How can the rabbit like having known the hawk’s talons?
When a soul is stripped bare, how can it fare?

Is there an answer?
Can there be?
And how can one who has lived without hate, forgive the introducer of it.  When a being built for love and caring knows this sensation, how can they continue to exist?

They cannot.  Not as they are.
So when the dark talons grip them, they melt away, and die.
They cease to be, and can only flee
to the ends of the world and beyond
The place where the sidewalk ends and th Great Lion’s  land unfurls

Green, new. So very bright and healing.
And yet, how can one who feels tainted live in purity?

They must learn to forgive, if they cannot forget.
Love must be found where the wind calls and the woods shelter
In the longing song of the wolf  the lapin finds the answer

To forgive yourself, you must find something in you which may forgive your betrayer, the ender of the meadow-times when all bloomed brightly.

One cannot remain an innocent hare for ever, if they wish to swim to the rescue of those lost at sea.
To swim, one must understand more than oneself, one must listen deeply.
And perhaps, in the search for a way to reach those stranded upon the tides, the wounded rabbit might find echoes of healing within its frail frame.

Metamorphic Tales

January 2, 2010

It’s odd how stories will dance and shift.
How their power, their need to be written, spoken, shared, can change from moment to moment. How they’ll pull me along, inexorable, irresistible. To an ending, or to several, or to places somewhere along the way they’ll coax or coerce me.
Then all to often, they’ll simply stop.
Unfinished and untold, they drift away and I forget them.
Sometimes they come again, new and different or similar and tauntingly familiar. Sometimes they emerge like this, from the shadowy cocoons of forgotten tales.
Sometimes they disappear and never come to me again.

Two Small Bears

December 9, 2009

Pink Bear and Little Bear are the best of friends, even though they live very far from one another. Pink Bear lives in a house in a town near a city and Little Bear lives in a cave in the woods near a stream. Pink Bear lives with humans, and her other best friend, who is a little girl. Little Bear lives with Papa Bear and Mama Bear, and they teach him all the secrets of the woods.

It has been a long time since Pink Bear and Little Bear saw each other, at least in the fur. But every night, when the two sleep, they meet and play together in the meadow near the night king’s castle. They play all kinds of games, and tell each other about each day’s adventures. When the time comes for them to wake up, the give each other bear hugs and then wave to each other as they fade from the meadow.

Sometimes Pink Bear wishes she could go and live in the forest with Little Bear, but she knows she would miss her human family if she left the house in the town near the city. Still, sometimes she daydreams about spending days in the woods, especially when her other best friend is busy doing human things.

Sometimes Little Bear wishes he could go and live in the house in the town near the city, but he knows he would miss Mama Bear and Papa Bear and their cave in the woods by the stream. Little Bear wonders what it is like to live crowded together, all rushing about and busy, with roads and sidewalks instead of grass and dirt. Occasionally he plans a visit to Pink Bear, the way she and the little girl visit him. But usually he is too busy in the woods to think much about the city. There is the stream to play in, fish to catch, butterflies to chase, and berries to pick. And when Little Bear gets lonely there is Moose, or Raccoon, or Hare, or some other friend of his.

When summer comes, they will play together again, they know. That is how it has always been. In Summer and Spring the two bears, accompanied occasionally by the little girl, play in the woods, and Little Bear shows the new places and tells his new stories to Pink Bear. In Fall Little Bear and his Mama and Papa eat as much as they can, and Pink Bear and the Little girl go back to their house in the town near the city. In Winter, they all dream of Spring.

Go to sleep

November 30, 2009

There is a valley out there, in some world or another. It is a sunny place, full of growing things. The woods are dotted with meadows, spotted in turn with the bobbing blooms of tansy, poppy, daisy and more. The surrounding hills have gentle slopes, allowing the forest and its accompanying meadows to climb high up on them, some have even been completely engulfed by the trees. Odd things lurk in this place, hidden in the roots, in the branches, even in the hills themselves.

But none are stranger than the guardian and ruler of the valley, at least to our way of thinking in this time and place. In the center of the valley, at the heart of the largest and loveliest meadow, by the banks of the stream that wends its way out of the hills and on, there the guardian of dreams dwells. His duty is a strange one, and not as it seems, but he does as well as he may and cares very much for the valley and all within it.

Rarely does the Dream Guard venture forth from the valley, rarer yet does he sleep. For there is much to do, and always there are dreams in danger. His valley is a safe-house, a shelter from dangers unseen and unknown. Those who dwell in the valley, whether hooved, winged, scaled, clothed in air or cloth, have come here to seek asylum, or aid. Driven out of their birthplaces they seek his protection, and if their homes still exist, some will also seek his aid in returning to them.

It is because of these refugees and emigres the Guardian sleeps little.  He and they speak a common tongue, but it is not our own.  Unsurprising perhaps, as many of those who dwell in the bright and dark places of the valley do not speak as we do.  Nor do they hear as do you and I.  The whisper of fear, the brazen tooting of pride, the sweet chime of love, gentle murmur of adoration.  These are languages spoken in the valley, for the inhabitants of the valley are dwellers in dreams.

Born in dream, they live in the valley only when their dreams are lost, shattered, changed.  Some lucky few only visit, momentarily unneeded at home.  But these vacationers are the least of the population.  The guardian’s duty is not just to these disenfranchised beings.  His greatest burden, hardest duty to fulfill, is to maintain the dreams everywhenwhere, even perhaps to find new homes for some among his wards.

Mostly he simply seeks to prevent a drastic increase in their number.  Unfortunately for him, when minds awake, their dreams fade, and the valley is flooded with new visitors.  A carefully managed schedule of waking and dreaming is the only way to keep the valley livable, uncrowded and safe for those rare creatures born there.

So if you ever feel as though someone is whispering to you to sleep, to lie back and close your eyes, do not fear.  The guardian of dreams is simply hoping you will help him, that you will provide one more safe refuge for the people of the valley.