Leveraging her foot against a boulder she kicked it viciously hoping to dislodge mud. She could barely see her shoes. The sun was setting. No shelter in sight, it was dangerously cold. Wet mud soaked her feet damp all the way through her socks. She tried to scrape her shoes free of mud. Pine needles and leaves reinforced the mud refusing to budge.
Struggling forward the mass continued to grow bigger until its weight fell from her foot, only to be replaced in the next step. “Arrrggghhh!” She screamed.
Twilight was falling. Cold sweat freely rolled down her spine clinging to bone. Wrapped in her injustice, clinging to her mantra, “it isn’t fair.” Her hairline was crusty with salty sweat. Droplets leaked into her eyes, burning. Worse the trail had taken a downward turn. “I’m supposed to be going up the mountain!”
Then it hit her. “Oooffff,” the realization so powerful it knocked air out of her belly. The underpinnings of her North quest: she whispered, “Life on life’s terms.”
It didn’t matter if her circumstances were fair. “I chose this task. What was fair about living with a wicked stepmother? What was fair about my parent’s death?” She said, “They were murdered by the woman they provided with food and shelter.”
She felt the familiar burn, born of injustice, at the back of her throat when a horrifying thought sent her fear skyrocketing. “Does justice or injustice grow out of decisions good and bad? Is there a perverse impartiality at play? Impartiality; if you blindly bring a wicked person into your home there will be wicked consequences.”
Standing in this blinding insight Cinderella understood the balance between intentions and reality. “It wasn’t enough my parents had good intentions. When they invited my stepmother to live under our roof there was a deeper reality. Reality encompassed by my stepmother’s subterfuge. Hidden in her helpfulness and gratitude, manipulation, layered under sweetness.”
A cracked sob forced its way free from her chest. She gripped the trunk of the nearest tree. The deception unrecognized. “Surely there were clues?” Bile forced its way up. She spit its fire onto the frozen mushy ground. Her breath hung heavy in the air.
In her heart of hearts Cinderella remembered a younger Charlotte. She’d been resentful and suspicious of the new-comers filling her family home. Her parents assumed her feelings stemmed from unwarranted jealousy. Never guessing Charlotte’s suspicions were accurate. “We all paid the price.”
The forest was inky black. Her teeth chattering Cinderella realized, “I’m going to have to climb this mountain on the mountain’s terms.” Her beliefs about justice and injustice weren’t relevant to the task. Hands numb despite mittens she felt her way forward.
Another insight so bold it stole the breath out of her lungs. She staggered. Oxygen deprived she dragged in raw freezing air. She shouted, “False realities, crumble and fail.”
A tremor ran through her. “Huh, huh,” the huff encapsulated laughter and sob. Grief for her parent’s rolled through her like a wave merging into the vast oceanic neutrality where it no longer overwhelmed her.
She felt her way forward. Darkness spilled from juniper shrubs. Their spiky branches clawed at her face. Fear made her bright edged and brittle. Her worldview broken and tilted, impartiality, inherent in a universal design was a profoundly life-altering realization.
It was both comforting and awful. Her family history clarified in one glaring insight. Stumbling on a hidden rock she wanted to curse but swallowed the words. “I have to give up thinking life owes me the easy way because I’m a good person. I choose to be a good person because it helps me craft the kind of life I want to live.”
Time flashed to full darkness. Within the towering trees Cinderella slowed to a crawl. Wavering shadows dense and animated, felt formidable, even malevolent. Shuddering, Cinderella’s shoulders drooped. Her head fell forward. Eyes burning, for the first time in years, dry. She wouldn’t cry. Pushing her fears aside, gathering her composure, she took a cleansing breath. Standing tall she began again: one step at a time.
She mourned her parent’s generosity used against them in service of a wicked woman’s greed. Struggling through the forest in mud encrusted boots she came to terms with the dreadful possibilities born of good intentions. Fighting to maintain her balance she navigated boulders partially obscured in shadow and mud. “Imagine my parent’s blindness, reincarnated as my blindness, brought to bear in a royal marriage. And aren’t all marriages a royal marriage? Or shouldn’t they be? My blindness could put the entire Kingdom at risk.”
“How will I cope with life if my parent’s kindness doesn’t rule my actions?”
She remembered her early encounters with a Fairy Godmother. Standing in the kitchen garden, between the drooping leaves of corn stalks, the Fairy Godmother wore a silk dress. The color of eggplant, it was held together, belted with glittering raindrops and gauzy web. Extending her hand to Cinderella, she said, “Deepest Desires are the seeds of our happiness Cinderella. Challenges are a natural outgrowth of dreams and goals. Accepting problems on their own terms is the foundation of creativity.”
“The foundation of creativity,” she whispered, “Excellence for the sake of excellence.” Instantly Cinderella felt light in spirit. Strong. Looking down at her feet, she gasped.
Mud slipped off her shoes. The earth firmed up. Even better just in sight through the trees was a cabin next to a spring fed pond. Stepping outside the dark encrusted forest she saw it was still twilight.
Chapter Eleven
The Fairy Godmother of the North
Approaching the home through a small orchard Cinderella fingered the plum seeds in her pocket. The earth was moist and moved easily from recent rains. At the edge of the orchard she picked up a stick, dug a cavity and dropped both seeds into the hole.
Saying a prayer she patted the soil in place. Pausing, her spirit felt quiet, centered. The air hinted of smoke. Branches pruned from the orchard, dried to use in the fireplace.
Her personal history cohesive, Cinderella was transformed. The impartiality of life…. Reflecting choices, actions and intentions this was a freedom. Miraculously she was no longer trapped in the destructive past conceived by her stepmother. A past in which she was stripped of her place in life, the pain of her losses much greater than any burden of chores the stepmother heaped onto her.
Giving the planted seeds a final pat she prepared to stand. Half way to standing her back grabbed her with long fingers of pain striking muscle and bone. The torque created a spasm. “Arghh….” She screamed.
The cabin door flew open. Light spilled out. A woman ran toward her. Cinderella grabbed her back. Dropping forward, her hands gripped the ground. Hot tears leaked out her eyes. She bit her lip to keep from crying out again. What could be more surprising than this crippling pain? The lump in her throat left no room for words to maneuver past her lips. All she could hear was hiccups, soft hiccups. It took a moment to realize she was making the noise.
She felt a cooling hand at her lower back. A woman said, “Breathe Cinderella.”
“My name is Charlotte!” Back molars grinding, “Why can’t anyone call me by my rightful name? Charlotte!” She raised her torso half-way. “Arghhh….Charlotte.” She swiveled her head, the only part of her spinal column working, and peaked up at the woman standing next to her.
A face defined by high cheekbones, large round eyes, and the fairest complexion Cinderella had ever seen. Pale blonde hair strung with silver, the color of moonlight, swinging free. If Cinderella had to use one word to describe the tenderness, the yielding beauty of the woman, she would pick celestial. Squatting next to Cinderella, eyes filled with concern, “Shhh, don’t talk. Take a deep breath,” she said, “one more. So good.”
Her hand on Cinderella’s lower back was calming. “Let your head hang heavy. Eyes closed.”
“Is there any other way for my head to hang, except heavy, in this upside down posture?” Cinderella gritted her teeth.
The woman said, “Relax your jaw.” Resting her han
ds at Cinderella’s shoulders she said, “I’m just going to slide your pack off.”
Running a soothing hand down Cinderella’s neck; the vertebrae clicked into alignment. She tugged on the leather straps of Cinderella’s pack, the heaviest items being the water containers and cookies. Relieved to feel the weight slide free Cinderella took another breath. It amazed her. The difficulty: taking one breath and than another. Tears fell. Cool not the hot-salty-burn of her earlier tears.
With one hand on Cinderella’s lower back and another lengthening her neck the woman gently with even pressure tugged in opposition until Cinderella could feel the minutia of space separating each vertebrae. She said, “So good, Cinderella. Let your arms swing free. Shhh… don’t talk.”
“Let your head hang heavy. When you feel ready, beginning at the base of your spine,” she rubbed Cinderella’s lower back, “roll up one vertebra at a time. Your head and shoulders will be very last to rise.”
With this advice Cinderella was able to straighten. “What happened?” she asked.
“Would you like the complex answer or the simple answer?” The woman smiled. She glowed. Radiant. A fuzzy-soft-peach-color extended just beyond her physical body. And there was a strange sound, like the hum of bees or the very edge of a harp string plucked. Cinderella could almost understand the musical resonance, its own language, before the faint tone slipped away.
Cinderella stared. The woman laughed.
Picking up Cinderella’s back pack, she said, “Come on. Let’s get you in the house.”
“But what happened?” Cinderella insisted. A pressure weighted across the bridge of her nose. A burden. She carried a burden.
The woman sighed, “It’s getting late and cold. You insist on knowing right now why the muscles in your back seized-up?”
Cinderella nodded.
The woman sighed again, “Alright. What are you feeling?”
Of all the questions she might have asked. Cinderella was unprepared. She squeezed her muscles to stillness until she stood quiet. Frightened, like a deer frozen in the eye of the hunter. “I’m not feeling a specific feeling,” she insisted.
The Fairy Godmother threw her arms up into the air. Already a tall, linear, slim woman she seemed suddenly giant. She stalked away, shouting, “When will people learn to acknowledge their feelings?”
Turning she pointed a long finger at Cinderella. “The price you pay to come into my house is the knowledge of the feeling haunting you. Knock on the door when you are ready. Don’t take too long. The nights are cold.”
She stomped up the steps and slammed the door.
Cinderella sat on the porch. The stone steps carried the mountain’s cold. Shivering, she could also detect the strength. The eons of enduring wisdom carried through the conduit of stone. She sighed. “I am haunted by a feeling I’ve dreaded admitting.”
In the wake of her realization of life’s impartiality: “Wait. Is this supreme impartiality the basis of equality and freedom?”
Did her parents pay the terrible price corresponding to their blind innocence? Their unwillingness to recognize evil clothed in a woman’s plea for help. Evil disguised by good looks or kind acts. Did their lack of discernment cost them their lives? A lack of good judgment that destroyed their family, leaving Cinderella orphaned.
Cinderella didn’t feel anger. She mourned them. She respected their stand in the world for compassion. She held their kindness close to her heart. She knew she would never be blindly kind or innocent ever again. “So what am I feeling?”
Shame; insidious shame, a generational blind eye, handed down over countless lives. A second shame born from living within her stepmother’s greed stained her world. Despite the love she shared with Blackie, the gardens and animals, even while soaking up the beauty in nature Cinderella felt disreputable. She was somehow polluted. The shame of living with a wicked woman was woven through tasks-interactions-feelings; into the fabric of her spirit. “Ugh.”
“What is the antidote to shame?”
She knocked on the door. Light spilled out in a circle. Cinderella stepped forward…. “I felt, I feel, shame.”
The woman nodded. “Good. Now you know the complex answer to what happened.”
She opened the door wider. Still as a statue, Cinderella didn’t move. She didn’t step into the warmth. She said, “And the simple answer?”
“A back seizure, night on the mountain is freezing cold. You’ve walked a long way today and carried a pack: strain, fatigue and cold.”
The Fairy Godmother opened the pack and pulled out a half finished water bottle. “By the end of the day your water bottles should be empty. You have not even finished one.”
Head drooping with fatigue Cinderella pulled off her shoes before entering the home of the Fairy Godmother. Light, fire, and the aroma of food cooking was her first impression. Her stomach was hollow with hunger.
But the riveting presence in the room was the woman. Pale translucent skin, fine blonde hair, silvered, shimmering with grey, prominent cheek bones, eyes grey-blue surrounded by a white so clean it hinted of blue. She stood a pillar of light, tinted peach. She was almost transparent, filled with spirit.
Cinderella was speechless. What words could describe this beauty? Like the outer most edges of an orange flame, a flame’s peach aura.
Pointing, the woman said, “Go. Soak in the tub. We’ll talk after you bathe.”
In the bathroom, pealing off her tights and skirt, her sweater and top Cinderella scrambled into the porcelain tub steaming with heat. “Ahhh.”
Twisting her hair high on top of her head she created a knot to hold her hair in place. Her hair was thick. Pulling it off her neck felt free. She was liberated from the weight.
Hard soap was embedded with bits of the ground up flowers. She scrubbed her face and neck. Then laid her head back and closed her eyes. She went blank. Sinking into water up to her chin, she missed Blackie. It gave her a jolt of anxiety. In Blackie’s presence she felt safe. Using the soap she aggressively scrubbed away the smell of sweat and fear and loneliness. By the time she reached her feet she saw they were red and swollen but held no blisters.
Hanging next to towels she found a wool jumpsuit and thick socks. Gathering towels and hiking clothes she saw a laundry shoot with a note, “clothes and towels here.” Peering down the square metal tunnel she laughed thinking how she and the Prince would have designed fun around the laundry shoot ending in the basement.
In the main room a table was set for two. Turning away from the oven the Fairy Godmother smiled. Cinderella shifted her weight awkwardly modeling the jumpsuit. Merlot-red, cashmere, it was reminiscent, an improved version of ‘long-johns.’ Cinderella accessorized the outfit with the shimmering chain of white gold rope, wrapped and loosely slung into a belt across her hips.
Hiding her smile the Fairy Godmother turned back to the stove. She said, “I see you found the chain. I imagine you’ve felt its spirit? I hope you’ve found it more useful then just a fashion accessory?
“Fresh clothes for your hike tomorrow are on top of the dresser in the little bedroom.”
Cinderella nodded. In the warmth and light of the great room she felt sleepy. The Fairy Godmother crossed the room to sit in front of the fire. She gestured for Cinderella to join her. Then tugging her skirt up for room, stretching one leg in front of her; the other tucked in her belly the Fairy Godmother folded her torso over her straightened leg.
Following her example Cinderella wrestled her foot into her abdomen. Her knee popped into the air. This was a more complex version of a forward fold. She murmured her surprise. “You’re the Fairy Godmother of the North!”
“Of course I am. Who were you expecting? Inhale and lift your head….Look at me……Exhale……Pull your chin toward your shin.”
“Ow!” Cinderella complained.
The Fairy Godmother dipped her head in Cinderella’s direction. Despite her gorgeous blue eyes, and luminous skin, being on the receiving end of her attention was a f
earsome experience. It made Cinderella shaky.
She said, “Cinderella we are stretching because you have an injury. An injury gentle stretching will relieve.”
She sighed, “In order to conquer the North you need self-regulation, Cinderella. Tonight I am instructing you. Stretching is a way of meeting yourself at your limitations. Can you soften around where it hurts? Can you let compassion acknowledge your limitations? This is the path of self-control.”
“Well, I can certainly feel my limitations,” grumbled Cinderella.
The Fairy Godmother settled into her forward fold with a sigh of contentment. Yes, contentment! Chastised Cinderella followed her example. Tucking her leg on top of her thigh her knee popped up again. She sighed. Changing legs, lifting her head, she exhaled. Leaning into the length of her opposite leg she wondered if someday she too would feel contentment while stretching.
What did the Fairy Godmother say about finding my edge? Experimenting, she intentionally softened. Stiff muscles yielded, and became supple and pliable. “Huh.” Setting aside the feeling that talking to her self was ridiculous she said to her leg, “You’ve had a tough day.”
Is this compassion?
The Fairy Godmother interrupted her ruminations with instructions for the next stretch. She said, “Pull the soles of your feet together. Inhale. Good….lengthen your back and keep your neck long. Exhale.”
Cinderella heard the Fairy Godmother exhale and followed the sound with her own. She could sense their bodies sharing a rhythm.
The Fairy Godmother smiled. She said, “Lean forward. Use your elbows as leverage to press down your thighs.” She laughed at the face Cinderella made.
“No….. Not the shins. Push your elbows across your thigh muscles. Good. Just breathe. It takes our body time to adjust. It takes the muscles time to trust the moment is safe. Time and breath encourages letting-go, surrendering to the moment.”
Cinderella closed her eyes. Inhale and stretch: Exhale and let go. She felt the stress of the day fall away. The power of her realizations reverberating, a string was plucked and Cinderella could never forget its sound. Today’s reorganization of her personal perspective was cataclysmic. A sigh slipped past her lips. She dropped her head with a tiny sob. She missed her parents so much!
Fairy Godmothers of The Four Directions Page 8
