In the fullness of the following silence the Fairy Godmother asked, “What did you let go of to find your way crossing the stream and while dealing with mud and pine needle shoes?” She couldn’t hide her grin and Cinderella smiled.
“Hmmm… I let go of the feeling life owes me the easy way. Parts of life are out of my control but I have to deal with challenges on their own terms.” She huffed through her nose. “Oh, that’s not quite right.”
The Fairy Godmother’s eyes were shining. She embodied ethereal beauty. Her intelligence was like a living force in the room. Cinderella felt safe enough to share her embarrassing and childlike view of the world. In some ways the turmoil of her parent’s death aged her. In other ways, grief stunted her growth. She looked the Fairy Godmother in the eye and said, “I accept the challenge for what it is instead of feeling life is unfair.” She swallowed, “The mechanism of life: Its impartiality, it doesn’t matter if I am a Princess or grief stricken girl. Life deals with us on its own terms.”
The Fairy Godmother gently nudged her to the table and fed her creamy soup filled with potatoes, carrots and chunks of chicken. Cinderella buttered her second dinner roll. Between bites she shared her change in perspective. “My parents wanted to see only the good in people. They turned a blind eye to negative qualities. Sometimes this worked to their benefit.” She set down her spoon and leaned forward. “Believing in the best could draw out the best in people. But for people who deceive others with a cloak of goodness,” Cinderella shook her head. “My parents did not understand they were inviting danger into our home when they opened the door and their hearts to my stepmother and her daughters.”
The Fairy Godmother nodded. “Yes. Arguing with life, or in your parent’s case ignoring portions of life, causes suffering.”
They stopped speaking. The quiet room calmed Cinderella’s agitation. In the play of the fire’s colors Cinderella could see the tinges of peach in the orange and yellow flame. Why had she never noticed this pale-peachy-color before? How many times had she sat by the fire and dreamed?
The Fairy Godmother nudged her with a foot. “Go to sleep Charlotte. Gather your strength for tomorrow.”
Chapter Twelve
A Quest for Strength and Wisdom
Piled high in down comforters when Cinderella opened her eyes, she said, “I miss Blackie.” The sky was still dark. It was the time when the darkness of night retreats and the light of the rising sun edges its way to the horizon. Slipping her feet into down boots, Cinderella padded into the kitchen. The house felt empty. At the table, she found blueberry pancakes stacked three high and apple bacon under the cover of a silver dome. “Pancakes!” she yelled. “Yes! So much fun.”
She sipped freshly squeezed orange juice walking the length of the cabin. One wall was lined with shelves, filled with books. Although she was alone in the cabin the Fairy Godmother’s light lingered. Cinderella thought she could inhale it. “Silly,” she muttered.
She sat at the table hollow from the exertions of the previous day. There was coffee thick with melted chocolate. She scooped whipped butter into the between spaces of the stack. Cinderella cut away her first bite. Pancake, butter, syrup; she groaned her appreciation.
After washing dishes, full of the sweetness of pancakes and the biting jolt of coffee, she ran to put on clothes. Over wool tights she pulled up a plaid skirt. Heavier than yesterday’s skirt it fell below her knees. Wrapping the white gold chain into a belt around her waist she pulled on a finely woven top, adding a down vest.
Outside the faint rustling of trees signaled a weather change. A cold wind would drop the temperature. Muscles in her stomach gripped and tightened, encountering pancakes. She laughed. Her fear hit a full stomach, lightened the feeling until it dispersed.
The sun was rising. Before she left the Fairy Godmother’s house she remembered to “drink a glass of water.” Her pack was loaded with fresh supplies. Cinderella smiled when she saw the canvas bag of cookies. The bed made, kitchen cleaned, she closed the cabin door saying a prayer of gratitude. Behind the cottage she found the mountain’s trail. Her hand flew to her heart. “No. Oh no. I can’t climb this rock face.”
Stairs, steep as the cabin walls were embedded in mountain rock. She would spend the morning pulling her tired body up the face of the cliff. “This cliff is at a ninety degree angle. Well, almost,” she mumbled. “It’s just too much. They’re asking too much of me. I can’t climb this, this, I can’t even see where it ends.”
Stamping her feet, she pulled on her hair, which she realized was loose and would fall in her face obscuring her vision on the mountain. “Ahh..” She heard the Prince’s voice replaying a conversation just before they left the castle.
“Charlotte I need you.” He pulled his hands through his hair. “Running a Kingdom… There are multiple currencies at play in any single encounter. If you can’t see them now after awakening the Four Directions you will. Subtext, hidden agenda’s, outcomes, consequences, ulterior motives, misconceptions and the list is endless. I need your perspective, feedback. I need our love keeping me grounded, staying centered in the goals of well-being across all of the dimensions – individually, as a private family, as a Royal family, extending throughout the Kingdom, success, prosperity, building wealth, loyalty…”
Covering his mouth with her hand, Cinderella whispered, “Shh… We’ll figure it out. I understand you need me to learn life from the Four Directions. You’ve explained. It’s the beginning of finding and building wisdom. I’ll be back in a few weeks and then you can show me what it is we do. What we need.”
Pulling Cinderella into his arms he buried his head in her hair. “Hey, hey,” she whispered, “I’ve got you.”
Remembering: remembering her promise Cinderella shook off doubt. If this rock stairway was the terms of the mountain then she would climb them. In the vest pocket of her down jacket she found her compass and gloves without fingertips. She pulled them on. Hugging mountain rock all day was going to be chilly. With a groan she hoisted herself up the first step. Grunting she said, “This would be a tough trail for Blackie to follow.”
She climbed stone stairs all morning while the sun rose in the sky. Clouds built up and dispersed. The mercurial changes of mountain weather mystifying her. By mid morning the steps were covered in moss. Surrounding trees and their exposed roots also wore a springy green covering. Cinderella battled her way up each step until stone stairs disappeared replaced with massive tree roots.
“Oh no,” she groaned. Leaning into the mountain for support she opened her water bottle and drank deeply. Glacier-pure she could taste the mountain granite at the back of her throat. She found a chocolate bar and ate it in two bites.
Wind whipped up the gorge, howling. Sweat tricked down her back. Her legs quivered. “Why am I on this trek?” She mumbled. Her reasons felt puny against the raw face of mountain. Her fears grew with each menacing step. The memory of her promise faded.
She was afraid of heights, the sheer drop. Clouds shredded by high winds seem close enough to touch. The Fairy Godmother’s cottage was a tiny dot in the distance. “Isn’t there another way?” Chocolate powered she remembered the Prince’s gaze filling her with light.
Biting her bottom lip she pulled herself up the rocky-rooted step, and then another and another until she lost count immersed in the gigantic tree roots supported by the granite mountain. She negotiated exposed-tree-roots embedded with boulders. Amidst the huge proportions she felt insignificant, lost in the enormity of the task before her.
Trapped in these mental cobwebs, straining to reach the next step, her foot slipped on damp moss. She crashed, her knee taking the brunt of her fall. Wavering high up the mountain gorge she threw herself forward clinging to roots while the shale crumbled beneath her. She was shaking. “Don’t look down!”
She knew the temptation of the body to follow where the eye travels. Using her sleeve she wiped sweat rolling off her forehead into her eyes. Her tights were torn. Blood seeped from a cut
already swollen and bright red.
She wanted to flee back to the quiet serenity of the Fairy Godmother’s cottage. How quickly she leaped at the possibility of failure. “Do I dare hope? Was my fall a sign? Is my injury telling me to turn around? What should I do? Go back?”
She longed to be sitting with the Fairy Godmother in front of the fire, even if it meant a session of convoluted stretching. What had the Fairy Godmother said about tying herself up in postures of knots? “Finding, building a center of calm, when you are at the edge of what is possible, this is preparation for maintaining a center of calm in moments when life twists you up.”
Clenching her jaw Cinderella grumbled, “Life has me tied-up pretty well. If I don’t complete the climb will I be allowed to marry the Prince?”
An acrid foul smell brushed past her and she screamed. Grabbing her pack she ran up the slippery roots. Jolted into action her moment of questioning passed. “If I don’t complete this test there will be no tomorrows with my Prince.”
She could still feel the wild joy of his arms around her. Shaking her head, “No, turning back is not an option.”
She tugged at the thin but sturdy chain wrapping her waist. The final yank threw her crashing a second time into the rocks. Blood trickled down her cheek. Salty tears followed. Her nose already swollen began to weep its own course down her face. “Silly. You’re silly. Stay focused,” she whispered.
She looped the chain around a tree root the size of her arm. The strain of altitude, tired from yesterday’s hike, she could not seem to get enough air. She sat for a moment facing away from the mountain. Cold wind crystallized the moisture, a combination of sweat, tears and mucus, hardening on her face. For the first time in the awful morning she laughed.
With her pack at her feet she rummaged out a water bottle and a whisper thin cashmere scarf. She was shocked to notice now the water had visible particles of ice along with the floating bits of lemon. The sooner she bandaged her knee to find shelter and safety, the better.
Taking the scarf, tying an anchor knot below her knee she wrapped the circumference twice and then once more for good measure. Her father had taught her how to bandage a sprain by first creating the anchor or foundation. His strong hands would create a system of X’s over the injured area. Not too tight but enough compression to reduce swelling.
Could she feel him looking over her shoulder while she crisscrossed the scarf around her knee? Did she imagine feeling his warmth? She created another anchor above the knee knotting the scarf in place. A fleeting pressure on her shoulder was the goodbye.
Love for her father swelled in her heart. Once he told her, “Mountains hold power. In the mountains the veil between substance and spirit, life and death, is thin.”
Shaking her head, she dug into the back pack, looping a knitted scarf around her neck. She was rewarded with instantaneous warmth. Only then she did she drink the lemon infused water. Bitter, it tasted like medicine.
She closed her eyes. Her knee throbbed; a pounding louder than her heart. Her eyes popped open wide with fear. “Will injury force me to turn around? Will a simple fall ruin my future?”
She couldn’t seem to stop leaping to the worst of all possible conclusions. Urgency pulled her into prayer. With her eyes closed tiny particles of light collided. She gathered her intention in her belly just as the Fairy Godmother of the West had taught her. Still facing outward she began her prayer, “Mother of life: I open my mind and heart to you.”
A quiet settled. Her pounding knee calmed. She felt the eons of time that had coursed through the mountain. Soft springy moss cushioned hard contours. Cinderella wiggled deeper into the crevice. Looking down, the Fairy Godmother’s cabin was a crumb tucked against the cliff.
A pebble rattled beneath her feet and tumbled free of the mountain face. Gathering more stones in its wake they spilled off the mountain’s craggy features. “What time is it? How long have I wasted sitting here?”
Gulping down panic Cinderella doubled her wordless petition. Pressed into the mountain, a flash of lightning, she was illuminated. Screaming until she ran out of air and her voice was horse Cinderella fell silent. Sentient power crackled, her backbone absorbing the static and the signature frequency of the mountain.
At first a trickle, sub-atomic particles, danced back and forth. In the exchange of connectivity, sunlight, crisp in the frigid air, folded into ominous clouds. Light and dark intensified, until each rock was carved in intricate detail. The mountain’s potency undiluted. Raw power, distilled with her prayer, inscribed itself in the hollow bone of her back filling her with its steel.
Talking to herself to calm down, she re-tied her pack, looped the chain, alive with the mountain’s current, around her waist and continued up the steep trail. She wondered aloud, “Was this how the Prince’s whip absorbed power? Was it imprinted in every initiation through some mystical trans-morphology?”
The narrow path curved around the side of the mountain. Cinderella dared to look over the edge. The view jolted her away from mystical ruminations. As far as the eye could see was a silhouette of jagged cliffs. The view delivered a spike of adrenalin. Her heart pounded its thunder. The stairs evolved into a ledge no wider than her two feet. Grasping the mountain; her hand brushed a metal loop anchored in a wedge.
Moved by a power circumventing her mind she released her chain, its length whipped out sparkling in the half light of cloud cover. Cinderella stared, “How can I make this work? Thread the metal and tie a knot? No. Hmmm…. I could knot the ends together. Untie to loop at the next link… This is confusing!”
In the high altitude her thoughts collided until they were a tangle she could not sort through. Was it her imagination? Was the chain alive? Light in weight and infused with a diamond hard light, was the chain supple, more responsive in her hands?
Looking over the cliff she swayed looping her fingers through the metal harness. “There is no time to lose. I must get past this section of mountain!”
Rocks crumbled and the trail narrowed to the width of one foot. Each time she untied the chain sliding it out of the previous link, swaying momentarily unfettered, she hyperventilated. Her system of tying and untying was cumbersome. She reached blindly ahead. Her hand landed in a crevice. She felt the squish and screamed. Bloodcurdling, she whipped her fingers away.
Gathering frayed courage she peered into the crack coming eye to eye with a Newt. Orange body, black eyes, it gazed unflinchingly at Cinderella. She laughed. “There must be a spring of water nearby for you…”
Looking down; rock crumbled. Looking up; blue sky was now interspersed with puffy white clouds. She slid the chain out, looping the next metal ring; tying the ends together, within the loop, she balanced the tightrope with a circle of protection.
What was transforming this metal rope? Once inanimate, now each metal link pulsed with authority. Packed with spirit, “Are these the qualities of the North? Am I changing too?”
Each rusted metal loop embedded in rock took her further edging along the narrow trail. She remembered the feel of the Prince’s arms around her, another circle of protection.
Ahead a stream of water slipped down the face of the mountain. Cupping her hand she brought water to her lips. Inching forward she drank as the water fell from the mountain. Living water imbued with the mountain spirit.
Tip-toeing along the narrow ledge she came to a tree. She would have to navigate the brush growing out of a crevice. Alligator Juniper, the bark rough like scales carried silver berries dangling against pale-green spiky foliage. Deeper into the tree her gaze was pulled. She caught her breath. A baby owl, the size of her hand, watched her with blinking eyes. What had the Fairy Godmother told her?
“Animals reflect life. Their appearance signals a message from Nature.” Embedded in the memory, Cinderella had looked at her blankly. The Fairy Godmother’s example had been a squirrel. “If a squirrel crosses your path the corresponding question might be, “What am I gathering? Do I gather the necessities or t
he frivolous?”
The Fairy Godmother’s introduction of the qualities associated with individual animals had sparked Cinderella’s interest. She found books in her family’s library. Late at night while the house and its occupants slept Cinderella studied.
She wondered, what would the Fairy Godmother say about the baby owl? The animal’s skill for seeing in the dark….
“What does it mean for me?” Maybe it’s the owl’s historical bonds with people of wisdom and intuition, Merlin for example. The owl speaks the language of the night, the wind and trees, moon and stars, the owl shares its ability to perceive what is hidden.
Cinderella sighed. “The metaphysical purpose in climbing North Mountain is a quest for strength and wisdom. Could it be an omen when the owl marks my path?”
Tying her chain into the next metal rung hammered into the mountain she thought, and the newt, what a surprise! Newt is a creature of water, sun and night. A tremendously unorthodox organism- its secret weapons are the skills of regeneration.
Lost in these ruminations Cinderella was surprised to find she’d come to the end of the narrow ledge. She’d been so wrapped up in trying to decode the meaning of find an owl and newt she’d stopped being terrified by the towering heights and narrow ledge. “Amazing! Is this the wisdom of positive distractions? Stress reduction?”
Chapter Thirteen
Conquering Fears in the North
The day had been fraught with relentless pressure to perform. Eating cookies each word accompanied with a puff of powdered sugar, she said, “I’m learning safety while co-existing with danger.”
It had been an achingly long day. In the eons of time melded in the mountains Cinderella’s presence was a blink in the cosmic eye. In the face of her insignificance, laughter bubbled-up. When she stepped past the curve in the mountain, she moaned.
Fairy Godmothers of The Four Directions Page 9
