“Then it was all a magical dream, an illusion dwelling only in drugs?”
“Not quite,” said the fairy. “Illusion comes from yourself, not from magical potions alone. You’ve been changed in ways necessary to the fulfillment of your life. I could never marry the childlike popinjay that you were. He who occupies high rank should learn the lesson of humility. He who accepts the fact of death is most reverent toward life.”
“Mistress Fairy, you are wise indeed,” said Gimme, seizing her hand. “Marry me and be the guiding spirit of my reign.”
The Fairy of the Forest accepted, and gave him a smock to wear. He led his charger from her stable while she saddled her mule, and together they rode to the palace. The king and queen loved the practical little fairy at once, and her black cat—a very wise animal—soon became the palace pet.
After the old king and queen died, the fairy became queen and guided her husband wisely and thriftily. His kingdom prospered. His nickname was changed from Gimme to Giver, and he lived happily ever after.
*See Walker, Barbara G., The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1983), 358.
SIXTEEN
In the old parable of the blind men and the elephant, one who holds the tail says the beast is like a rope, one who touches the leg says it is like a tree, one who feels the trunk says it is like a snake, one who feels the ear says it is like a fan, and so on. The same parable applies aptly to men and their deities. Since there is no objective, external creature to be felt, each man projects his own notions onto the concept of the sacred. Thus men create God, and women create Goddess.
This story is about understanding, especially the interpersonal rapport obtainable among women who follow their own “star.” The star often symbolizes the soul, as shown by our very language: It is the astral (meaning “starry”) self. In the Major Arcana of the tarot deck, a naked Goddess called The Star bathes both earth and water in streams of enlightenment.
The oracular pilgrimage center in this story is based on old tales of the Delphic sybils, whose underground serpent shrine was founded by the Goddess’s women long centuries before Apollo’s patriarchal priests usurped the site in the name of their deity. Even so, the shrine continued to be administered and staffed by women, and dedicated to the muses, without whom Apollo had no real power.
Four pilgrims were on their way to the oracle…
Once upon a time there was a famous oracle, so ancient and holy that folks came on long pilgrimages from distant countries to visit it. The oracle was located in a large cave on a precipitous mountainside, overlooking a deep, wild valley where a rushing stream poured out of a cleft in the sacred mountain. It was claimed that the water of this stream had magical and medicinal properties, because of its origin in the mountain of the oracle. Some of the oracle’s temple attendants filled little crystal vials with this water and sold them to ailing pilgrims. The water never cured anything, but it brought in a great deal of money, which helped to keep the temple and its personnel in comfortable affluence. The road up the sacred mountain was dotted with inns for the pilgrims. The innkeepers also made a great deal of money, because their rooms were nearly always filled, all year round. On any given day at any one of these inns one might find pilgrims discussing the exact nature of the oracle. Even those who had already visited the holy cave and had seen the shrine with their own eyes disagreed about what they had seen. Every individual’s story was different.
One day four pilgrims on their way to the oracle found themselves seated together in one of the inns, discussing oracular phenomena. They were a diverse assortment. One was a hulking giant of a man, half again as tall and twice as broad as the average, hardly able to squeeze himself into the inn’s biggest chair. The second was a dwarf, not much higher than the giant’s knee, requiring a built-up chair to see over the tabletop. The third was a handsome young prince, richly dressed, sporting a gold-hilted sword and a cloak of royal purple. The fourth was a gray-haired woman in a plain black robe, wearing no jewelry except an amulet on a silver chain around her neck.
The giant introduced himself as the leader of his king’s guards, a professional warrior esteemed for the invincible reach and power of his sword arm. The dwarf introduced himself as his king’s jester, beloved by the whole court for the originality of his antics. The prince introduced himself as his king’s son, unfortunately not the heir to the throne because his father had somehow neglected to schedule a wedding ceremony for his mother; nevertheless, he lived well at court and was generally thought as much a prince as the legitimate heir.
Having introduced themselves, the three men turned to the woman in black and paused expectantly. She said quietly, “I don’t belong to any king, or to any man for that matter. I’m a witch. I come to the oracle to study the art of prophecy as it is practiced here.”
The prince asked, “Then you believe that prophecy is an art, rather than a gift of the divine?”
“Of course,” said the witch. “A true prophet reads the nature of his hearer better than he reads the future.”
The dwarf said, “Surely you can’t be suggesting that holy men and women learn and practice their revelations, just as I learn and practice jokes and gestures to make people laugh?”
“Yes, I’m suggesting that,” she answered. “Most people have a great desire to believe. Even when the mundane sources of their miracle tales and psychic readings are plainly explained to them, they think it must be dissembling, to obscure the true magic.”
“Do you want to destroy people’s beliefs?” growled the giant. “If you were not a woman, I’d invite you to step outside and defend that suggestion. There must be magic and divine powers in the world, or we wouldn’t want to go on living.”
“I rest my case,” said the witch.
The prince urged, “You yourself make use of predictions, spells, and charms. You practice magic every day.”
“It’s a living,” the witch shrugged.
“Don’t argue with her,” counseled the dwarf. “This oracle is the greatest and holiest in the world. It will certainly show her, and all of us, the true vision of the divine. After all, we’re here to learn, not to quarrel.”
“All the same, witches should be taught not to have opinions,” grumbled the giant.
“If you want to make the first opinion of the oracle,” said the witch, “I suggest that you be the first of us to enter the Holy of Holies, as we must go one at a time. Such a strong warrior as yourself is best qualified to face any dangers that might threaten. You can come back at the end of the day and reveal the true nature of the oracle to the rest of us.”
Failing to hear the irony in her tone, the giant immediately agreed that he was most qualified to face the unknown first. The others concurred. Early the next morning they went together to the forecourt of the temple, under a beetling cliff, to see him off. He waved to them cheerily as he followed a silent, white-robed, lamp-bearing attendant into the sacred cave.
He walked for a long time through black tunnels, without any illumination except his guide’s lamp. Finally he saw a gleam of light ahead. He came to a spacious cavern, rich in translucent flowstone formations, all aglow with the warm light of lamps placed behind them. In the center of the floor stood a golden altar bearing a single crystal cup of dark-colored liquid. Beside the altar stood a beautiful lady in white. She lifted the cup and held it to his lips, keeping it there until he drank all the liquid. It was a peculiar sort of wine, with a bitter undertaste.
Then his guide took him through a long gallery with many pictures painted on the rock walls, seeming to dance and sway in the flickering light as he passed. Here and there were deep niches in which mysterious figures stood, clothed in glittering gems, apparently alive, making cryptic gestures. Strange odors wafted from burning censers along the way, making a haze in the dark air. The giant began to feel dizzy.
At last he was halted before a high doorway curtained with cloth of gold. The guide drew aside the curtain and
motioned him through. He entered alone into the chamber of the oracle.
It was a high-ceilinged cavern carved from native rock, hung with rich tapestries. Torches burned in sconces around the walls. In the center stood a huge black marble throne, on which sat a giant of truly awesome dimensions, big as an elephant. His ponderous head seemed to reach the roof of the cavern. His limbs were like tree trunks, his hands the size of breadboxes.
The pilgrim giant fell on his knees and worshiped the oracle, feeling his own individuality dissolve in a torrent of reverence and wonder.
The oracle bent toward him and handed him a small bronze medallion, on which was carved a five-pointed star. The mighty lips opened, and the creature said: “Every man must follow his star. Every star must sink below the face of the earth. As in the beginning, so in the end. Be as wise as you can. That is what I have to say to you.”
Then the oracular giant raised his chin very high, closed his eyes, and became still. The pilgrim felt himself dismissed. Clutching the medallion, he backed toward the door and rejoined his silent guide, who led him by a tortuous route out of the caverns. All the way his head was buzzing strangely. He felt that he had experienced something significant, that he had been told something deeply meaningful, but he had no idea what it was. He resolved to ponder the oracle’s words later.
When the giant returned to his fellow pilgrims, he told them that the total experience was indescribable, but the oracle was definitely a giant man, like himself but much, much bigger.
The next morning, the dwarf entered the temple, waving to the others as he followed the silent guide. He also was led to the golden altar and given the mysterious drink. He also traversed the picture gallery with buzzing in his ears, and stopped at the cloth-of-gold curtain. He also entered the chamber of the oracle. But instead of the giant he expected to see, there was a miniature chair in the center of the cavern, occupied by the smallest of men, only as high as the dwarf’s waist. This wee man was old, with silvery white hair, a long white beard, and a little wrinkled face like a dried apple.
While the dwarf knelt in awe of such perfection of smallness, the tiny man reached up and handed him a small bronze medallion on which was carved a five-pointed star. He said, in a piping voice: “Every man must follow his star. Every star must sink below the face of the earth. As in the beginning, so in the end. Be as wise as you can. That is what I have to say to you.”
Then he closed his eyes and put his little hand before his face, palm out. Interpreting this as a dismissal, the dwarf backed toward the door and was led away, back to the daylight, feeling sure that he had been given a message of profound meaning, if only he could grasp what it was.
When the dwarf returned to his companions, he said the experience was awesome and unforgettable. But the oracle was no giant, after all. On the contrary, he was a dwarf, like himself but much, much smaller.
The next morning, the prince entered the temple, giving the others a jaunty salute as he disappeared in the wake of his guide. He too went to the golden altar and drank the strange wine. He too walked the picture gallery, feeling peculiar tingling sensations throughout his body and a certain muzziness in his head. He too went through the cloth-of-gold curtain. In the chamber of the oracle he saw neither a giant nor a dwarf but a normal-sized king in splendid robes, a crown of gold and jewels on his head, a diamond-studded scepter in his hand. He was seated on the most magnificent throne imaginable, with purple velvet cushions and rich carvings inlaid with precious stones. The prince bowed low, hardly daring to raise his eyes to such royal splendor.
The kingly personage reached out with a benevolent gesture and handed him a small bronze medallion on which was carved a five-pointed star. He spoke in mellow tones: “Every man must follow his star. Every star must sink below the face of the earth. As in the beginning, so in the end. Be as wise as you can. That is what I have to say to you.”
Then he stood up and crossed his arms on his bemedaled chest, indicating that the interview was over. The prince humbly backed out of the chamber and was led back to the light of day, certain that a sacred king had given him an unparalleled key to enlightenment, if only he could divine its mysterious meaning. Ponder as he would, the meaning remained obscure.
When the prince rejoined the others, he said that he was in possession of a world-shaking secret. But the oracle was neither a giant nor a dwarf. He was the king of the whole earth, a noble gentleman like the prince himself, but much, much greater.
On the fourth day, it was the witch’s turn. She left her companions in the temple forecourt and followed the guide through the black tunnels. When she approached the golden altar, the white-clad lady looked into her eyes and graciously bowed her head, saying, “Welcome, sister. Blessed be.”
“Blessed be,” the witch responded, taking the crystal cup in her hand. She drank the wine. She followed the guide through the picture gallery, looking at the pictures with understanding. She had seen their symbols before and knew their significance. She spoke to the mysterious figures in the niches and received their answers.
When she passed through the gold curtain into the chamber of the oracle, she stopped in her tracks for a moment, then slowly smiled at what she saw.
Facing her in the torchlight was a full-length mirror, with two women standing beside it: a young maiden on the left, a white-haired crone on the right. The maiden reached out her right hand to the witch, and the crone reached out her left. The witch took their two hands and stood joined with them to create a triangle, facing the mirror.
“So, it’s the inner self that speaks, after all,” the witch said. Both women nodded.
“Deep in the earth, we know where we have begun,” said the maiden.
“Deep in the earth, we know where we will end,” said the crone.
“I understand,” said the witch. “The guiding star is the inner spirit.”
From the crone’s hand she received a small silver medallion on which was carved a five-pointed star. She kissed both women and left the chamber to follow her guide back to the open air.
When she sat with the three men in the inn that evening, she said nothing at all until the prince asked, “What of the oracle? What did you see?”
“I saw nothing that I do not see every day,” answered the witch. “I understood nothing but what my very bones have known since my birth. I felt nothing but the blood in my veins, the clothes on my body, and the ground beneath my feet.”
“How materialistic,” sneered the giant. “Obviously you are a woman of worldly and limited perceptions.”
“How ordinary,” said the dwarf. “Have you no sense of the sacred, no capacity for awe, no reverence for the profound?”
“How plebeian,” sniffed the prince. “Surely you must lack the advantage of a cultivated and refined taste.”
The witch looked at them all and smiled. “How manly you all are,” she said. “Do you think your experience here will affect your future lives to any significant degree?”
“Certainly,” said the giant.
“Of course,” said the dwarf.
“Without a doubt,” said the prince.
They parted amicably enough and went their separate ways.
Finding themselves unable to apply the oracle’s mysterious words to their daily lives, the three men soon forgot about their pilgrimage. They left the bronze medallions put away in odd places and ceased to remember them. They went on with their usual activities in their usual ways and sometimes described the process as following their star.
The witch, however, thought deeply and long. She meditated on the silver medallion with its five-pointed star like the five projections of the human body. She learned more about herself, and in so doing learned more about others. She became a highly successful witch, consulted by many affluent people. So she prospered and lived happily ever after.
SEVENTEEN
White and red sisters are well known in fairy tales, such as the story of Snow White and Rose Red. Here the sisters are tra
nsformed into husband and wife, for the benefit of a matricentric or female-governed nation.
The villain whose heart or soul resides outside of his body is also a convention of fairy tales, based on that most primitive of human beliefs, that a person may be hurt through magical aggression against a detached body part, such as hair, spittle, blood, fingernail clippings, and so forth. Many primitive cultures held that the placenta or umbilical cord was a newborn infant’s other self, external soul, or blood-rich vital spirit, and great care must be taken with it. Such objects were ceremonially disposed of with assiduous charms to preserve the child from harm. Similarly, fairy tale monsters are often attacked by magic, through destruction of something external to their bodies. Such details indicate the true antiquity of the folklore embedded in these stories.
Lily went to work with her ax and soon cut through the thick trunk.
Once upon a time there was a poor peasant girl who was named Lily because she had lily white skin and silver blond hair. She was the only child of a woodcutter living in the deep forest; Lily’s mother died when she was quite young. Her father taught her to work felling trees, and cutting, trimming, splitting, trussing, and stacking wood for market. Her father was a hard taskmaster, but his training made Lily stronger and stronger as she grew up. By the time she was full grown, she was well able to wield the heaviest ax, to chop trees or split kindling for hours at a time without tiring, or to carry a hundredweight of firewood on her back ten miles to the market town. She also learned to shape and carve wood and became a skillful artisan.
Lily might have been content with her rough but peaceful life, were it not for two disadvantages.
The first was her beauty, which Lily saw as a problem because it attracted all the rowdy youths for miles around. They teased her incessantly, waylaid her on the road to market, stole her wood, plucked at her clothes, pulled her hair, held her down and mauled her, and played dozens of crude tricks that they seemed to think would force her to pay attention to them, even to like them. In fact, they made Lily increasingly angry. Once or twice she lost her temper altogether and attacked her tormenters in earnest. Though outnumbered, she fought so effectively that she left one with broken teeth, another with a broken nose, a third with a broken arm (clubbed by a length of firewood), and two more internally injured from kicks in the belly. Naturally, this only escalated their malice.
Feminist Fairy Tales Page 14
