The Dancing Feather

 

A dancer and ballerina met in a dance company and quickly fell in love. When they danced together it was if a grand drama played out between them, captivating everyone who witnessed their mesmerizing performances.

They lived together in a chalet outside of the town where their company kept its theater. Both loved nature and longed to set their sore feet into the soft earth somewhere far off and secluded. Their housekeeper told them of a place she had visited as a child that was forested and where magical birds sang incredible songs from the tree tops. She had dreamed of it later in life and always when she arrived she was a child again.

So the dancer and ballerina set off to find the woods and venture barefoot into its meadows. They rode their horses all morning and into the afternoon. The air was perfect, the horses strong and they so enjoyed each other that time went by without notice.

Suddenly a light breeze came to ruffle them. A beautiful feather flew by, then came back and flew past again. The horses ears perked up. The feather played in the wind just in front of their surprised eyes. "Let's follow it" cried the ballerina. They galloped after the soaring feather into a deep forest. Of a sudden the feather shot up in the air and disappeared.

The two got off their horses, took off their shoes and sank their feet in the cool grass and earth. "It feels magical here." said the dancer. The fresh scent of earth and forest, the sparkling bird songs, the peaceful quiet that had come over the horses—led them into a happy trance.

They sat by a brook to refresh their feet in the gurgling water. Without speaking, the two sat in reverie. At last, the ballerina looked around and did not know where they were. "How are we going to find our way home?" Her companion was lost in dreaming, and did not answer. A bird flew down and landed on a limb nearby. It cocked it's head to see the ballerina, chirped and flew away. The ballerina followed it as it fluttered into the forest and suddenly faces began appearing from each tree trunk. She grabbed her companions arm. "I see faces in the trees!" The dancer had his eyes closed and was smiling. "Yes, I know. They are the ancestors."

Then one of the tree faces spoke. "We are glad that you two have found us. We know your love of life and dance, and that is why we sent the dancing feather to bring you here. You are now refreshed and though you think you are lost, you are not. You have found magic. By one of your horses you will find a small stone box inlaid with pearl and garnet. Open it and you will find a shell. In the shell is oil. Take this oil on your finger and rub it onto the forehead of your horses. They will take you home." With this, the faces disappeared into the forest.

The day had grown long. The ballerina found the tiny inlaid stone box by one of the horses. She opened it and saw a glistening seashell with oil. Dabbing it on her fingers, she rubbed it on the horses forehead. They shook their manes and danced their hooves on the ground, ready to gallop.

 © Steven Boone 2017 All Rights Reserved

Sign Language

I keep objects on my kitchen window. They all speak to me. They sit on the ledge above my sink, in front of the window that looks out to the neighbors fence past my driveway. It is an odd assortment; a potted plant, painted egg, flying nude angel, framed photos of dear ones, a bust of Thomas Jefferson, wood carving of water buffalo—about eighteen items. An odd assortment that matches my odd psychology. 

I notice that when an item is near another the two “talk” to each other. The conversations become performances and if one item were to step in or out of the picture, the drama changes.

I composed a scenario with objects from the window. Here is a story:

An old man has walked many lands, searching for a special gift to bring home to his beloved in a small mountain village in Chile. She had requested a piece of magic art to heal her of a malady that made her terribly tired and blue. 

One day, months into his journey, the fellow was out walking with his cape and hat, one hand behind his back, deep in thought about the pursuit of happiness. Around a bend in the road at the edge of a forest he looked up and met a hand that spoke in sign language, “Hello there friend!” Immediately the old man could understand as if he was hearing the words, and with eyes bulging wide open, he replied, “Hello good hand!” The hand's fingers were nimble and signed, “I know you have been walking great distances in search of a healing artwork to cheer up your beloved.” And in a second, the hand turned away, closed into a fist, then turned again to open and produced an egg, holding it between two fingers. The hollow egg's shell was painted with an exquisite design in black lacquer of three farmers working in a field of magic herbs in an enchanted world. “Put this in your sack and find your way back home. Place the egg on your windowsill in your kitchen. These farmers will come to your beloved in her sleep and revive her withered field of dreams. They are expert gardeners. Her deep consciousness will flourish. Healing waters will nourish her inner garden and she will be well again.”

The old man fell down to his knees, tearfully thanking the hand. The hand spoke one more time, “It is because you have a pure heart that this gift is given. You are old and infirm, yet because of love, you traveled endlessly for your beloved. Grace has come to you at last. Go now and know that you are protected.”

And with that the old man hugged the hand's thumb, took the egg, put it carefully in his sack and turned to walk home. The hand waved good-bye, then suddenly vanished.

A Fairy Tale

It is interesting how sometimes when we are looking for one thing, we find another that is more important. In Bavaria recently, Erki Eichenseer, a cultural curator, was looking through some old, forgotten archives searching for original texts in an old castle and discovered a treasure trove of over 500 unpublished fairytales from past ages.  (See BBC article)There is a word for such an occurrence: serendipity.

I call this blog, My Fairy-Tale Life, because I view my conscious existence through the prism of dream thought, mystery and spirit. I call our world, THE DREAM. The essence of this perception came to me when my oldest daughter and I were in a doctor’s office, waiting the results of an exam and when he came into the room his face was ashen. He looked at us, and spoke, saying to Naomi, “You have cancer, and the tumor in your hip is very large.” He then held his hands together to make a circle the shape of a grapefruit. In that instant it was as if an arrow pierced my heart, opening for one second a door of perception that then just as suddenly, shut. I felt we must be dreaming, that this sudden turn off of a cliff could not be reality. Life changed drastically in just a few moments and I knew the world is made of sand. Yet, there we sat together, numb and wondering what to do next. The experience has stayed with me as a seminal event that has permanently altered my consciousness.

What is a fairy-tale? “A fairy tale, or wonder tale, is a kind of folktale or fable. In these stories we meet witches and queens, giants and elves, princes, dragons, talking animals, ogres, princesses, and sometimes even fairies. Marvelous and magical things happen to characters in fairy tales. A boy may become a bird. A princess may sleep for a hundred years. A seal may become a girl. Objects too can be enchanted — mirrors talk, pumpkins become carriages, and a lamp may be home to a genie.” (See: Fairytales ) Usually, a fairy tale has a plot with twists and turns, shades of light and dark, and there is an object to the story.