The old stories, the ones that speak to me are the ones that are deep, clear water with bright fish waiting to swim with you, where mermaids will show you how to breathe underwater (it only takes a deep kiss).
The old stories are the ones at the top of craggy mountains, misty covered, full of caves where winged creatures breathe fire, but you’re closer to the gods who love to hear these tales. There’s a heavenly connection.
The magic of these tales is quicksilver. No matter how you might try to form them, reshape them, make them something they are not, their mercurial selves will return to their original form, even if we fail to notice this.
My tongue may be blistered, my hands crooked with disease, but when the story emerges all blemishes, any and all scars vanish. The stories are a balm. They calm my mind, sooth my soul and dance with the phoenix, sing with the selkies and run through the mountains with the giants. The witches and wizards might be seers in disguise, the old women are the ones we should listen to and when an over asks you to bake bread, bake bread. There is a beast, a traveler, a soldier, a solitary woman, a raven who is hungry and needs to be fed. They too have gifts.
Our bones are designed to resonate like tuning forks when struck by a story. We are where the lightning of our ancestors strikes to light us up, making the superficial falls away. That’s why we fall back and lean forward.
Put down the device for a while. Forget about the selfies. Look at the wind winding through trees, rocks, towers and antennas. Find the details and colours of the moss, the bark, the rust on bridges, or the hinges of ancient doors. Look up and around so you don’t miss the woman who is a fox about to break your heart, but what joy and lessons she’ll bring. The soldier who traded his gun for a drum will help you find your heart caught in glittering traps in underground caves. Look up and around, there’s treasure to be found in the glass mountain, even if it’s not the kind you can pick up and put in your pocket. And if you can hitch a ride, what better way to see the world than on the back of a flying dragon. Those are the old stories, the ones that speak to me.
What stories speak to you?
Smbrooks
5th April 2020