One story every day
There once was a Storyteller. He loved telling the stories of his father very much and often retold many famous old story. As he spoke sometimes, it was as if the heroes who had died long ago, came to life. And sometimes the Storyteller himself changed so much; it was as if he became part of another reality, another world.
When he started out telling his stories, he told them wherever he could. He spoke about the promises made by those forefathers, stories on how to prepare yourself for a Kingdom to come and how we could reach that. He was quite shocking to those who didn’t want to live as foretold and some even made an academic issue out of it. But he gathered great audiences, more and more. One day even five thousand people listened to him and in some miraculous way he managed to feed them all. People hung on to him as a new fairy king, a new leader, who could show the way out of oppression; out of misery. His stories lifted them up, empowered them. Many people came to hear him and he became quite famous.
One day he told a story in a house full of people. So many other people gathered that some made a hole in the roof just to enter the house. It was clear: His stories brought healing, gave people inspiration and people literally ‘walked the extra mile’ to hear him speak. When he spoke, the blind could see and the deaf could hear. So he could become the most beloved man in history. The High Priests and even the Emperor himself would be won over by the magic of his words, for sure. Wouldn’t everybody like a fairy kingdom to come and to hear stories about it?
But that is not how his story ended.
Greedy people in his time, were afraid they had to give up their powers. They didn’t want to change or start a new way to be. They didn’t want to accept the mirror the Storyteller gave them and became upset. As a result, the people didn’t want to listen to his stories anymore and slowly he lost nearly all of his audiences. It all happened in just a week. One moment he had a triumphant audience shouting “Hosanna!”, but a week later he was left alone. It must have been a shock to him, suddenly being without an audience. What is the use of telling about love and healing if nobody listens?
Only his closest friend knew the lonely path one needs to troth to fulfil one’s dreams. When it comes to action or decision making - between the known and the unknown, about faith and trust and the painful realisation of change - most people quit. Even his closest friends fell asleep when he faced his coming death. He had to face his end because real stories are about transformation and growth; but too often too painful for most people. His former audience rather preferred a dangerous criminal to this Storyteller and gone they were; looking for other ways of satisfaction. One by one, the fairy believers dropped away and were not able to face death.
But our Storyteller not only had the courage to face death, he also conquered it.
He went through a dreadful experience and understood that the end of his mission had become the mission itself. No words could describe his experience; on the other hand the painful nails in his body could and for three days he lay alone, with only Death in the room. And Death told him a story. The last story, any living being will hear before they cease to exist in their old ways. It is the story of transformation. On a good Friday, the chain of cause and effect – the very bone of every story – was broken. The Storyteller gave up… and only silence remained.
Yet, since then people haven’t stopped telling his story. ‘The High Priests and the Emperor have long gone but the Storyteller still lives in all of us. The word has become flesh’, they said. ‘The Storyteller was transfigured into a living legend, leaving his spirit behind. Where people gather to tell his story, he will be there as well. Our mouth is now his word and we feed our fellow brothers and sisters with these words of hope and healing.’ they say.
Real storytellers aren’t just for entertainment or fun. They are creators of a world to believe in. Their job is to share their beliefs so strongly, that a new reality is created in the minds of the people. A good story has to change and renew people. They make us recognise our own failures and make us yearn for a new way to be; showing us that new possibilities lay ahead...
There is a bird that lays no eggs and has no young, yet he always exists. He was here when the world began and is still with us today. Once, the bird had lived for 500 years and felt the end of his life was near. Day by day he lost more and more of his strength. He realised that he couldn’t soar as high in the sky as he could before, nor fly as fast or far as when he was young.
“I don’t want to live like this,” he thought “I want to be strong again.”. So he lifted his head and sang, “Sun, glorious sun, make me new and strong again!”. But the sun didn’t answer. Day after day the bird sang. When the sun still didn’t answer, he decided to return to the place where he had lived in the beginning of time and ask the sun once more.
He flew across the desert, pass the hills, through green valleys and over high mountains. The journey was long, and because he was old and weak, he had to rest along the way. Now, the bird had a keen sense of smell and was particularly fond of herbs and spices. So each time he landed, he collected pieces of cinnamon bark and fragrant leaves. He tucked some in among his feathers and carried the rest in his claws and began to build himself a nest with the cinnamon bark at the top of a palm tree and lined it with the fragrant leaves.
Finally, with everything ready, the bird sat down in his nest, lifted his head, and sang, “Sun, glorious sun, make me new and strong again!”.
This time the sun heard him. Swiftly it chased the clouds from the sky and stilled the winds and shone down on the mountainside with all its power. Suddenly there was a flash of light, flames leaped out of the nest, and the bird turned into a big round blaze of fire. After a while the flames died down. The tree had not burned, nor had the nest. But the bird was nowhere to be seen. In the nest remained a large heap of silvery ash…
Slowly the ash began to tremble and heaved itself upward. Out of the ash rose up a new bird; small and crumpled. But soon he stretched his neck and lifted his wings and flapped them. Moment by moment he grew, until he was the same size as before. He looked around, found an egg made of myrrh and hollowed it out. He then placed the ashes inside and closed the egg. The bird lifted his head and sang, “Sun, glorious sun, I shall sing my songs for you, for you alone! Forever and ever!”. Just as the song ended, the wind began to blow, clouds scudded across the sky and all living creatures crept out of their hiding places. It was time to start anew…
This Phoenix lives in all of us; it is our resilience. When life burns us down, we rise up from the ashes - fresh and anew - for new beginnings await us.
©2009 Dreamtime Kullilla-Art all rights reserved
Long ago in the Dreamtime when the world was very young, all the birds and animals spoke the same language and lived forever. No one ever died, so none of the creatures knew anything about the concept of death.
One morning a young Cockatoo was playing high up in a tree, swinging on a branch, when he slipped and fell to the ground landing on his head. Cockatoo did not move. The other animals tried to wake him up but he just lay there. A wise old Wombat looked at the bird and told the others that he had broken his neck. The animals, believing the Spirits had done this, called a meeting of all the animals under a big old gum tree to discuss this problem.
While they were talking, the Spirits came and took the little Cockatoo up into the sky. The other animals saw their friend wafting away into the far and beyond. This puzzled the animals very much. Why did the Spirits take their friend? Wombat told the animals that the Spirits had taken Cockatoo up into the sky so they could change him into something new. The animals wanted to know more about it and agreed that someone should go up to see what the Spirits would do with their friend; but who? It was nearly Winter and none of them wanted to go except for the Caterpillars. They agreed to go up together, into the far and beyond and make camp there for the Winter and return in the warmth of Spring to tell them what happened to Cockatoo. In one huge wriggling cloud the Caterpillars went up into the sky and all the other animals waited for Spring.
At the end of Winter, Wombat called all the animals to search for the Caterpillars but to no avail. They searched daily but would return with nothing. Then, on the first warm day of Spring, they saw them! A beautiful parade of brightly coloured wings; the first Butterflies.
The animals realised then that these beautifully coloured creatures were proof that the Spirits had given the Caterpillars a new and beautiful shape and that this must have also happened to their Cockatoo friend. As the Butterflies settled in the trees, they were such a mesmerising sight that the oldest animals decided that this is the way it must always be.
As we retreat into our homes and cocoons, life gives us an opportunity to transform and find new beauty. Just as it did that first time, long ago, in the Dreamtime…
Long ago, when the world was young, a Lakota spiritual leader placed himself on top of a high mountain, lay a willow hoop around him and dressed himself with silence. While he was sitting there - at one with nature - a vision came to him. The great trickster and teacher of wisdom - Iktomi - appeared in the form of a spider and spoke to him in a sacred language. He listened with great care, for only spiritual leaders of the Lakota could understand these words.
As Iktomi spoke, he took the elder's willow hoop - which had feathers, horse hair, beads and offerings on it - and began to spin a web inside the hoop. Whilst doing so, Iktomi shared with the elder all about the cycles of life and how we begin our lives as infants. We then move on to childhood and in to adulthood, until finally we come to old age where we must be taken care of as though we were infants again; thus completing the cycle.
"But," Iktomi said, "in each time of life there are many forces - some good and some bad. If you listen to the good forces, they will steer you on the right path. But, if you listen to the bad forces, they will hurt you and drive you in the wrong direction." He continued, "There will be many forces! Some can help with the harmony of nature, others will interfere with it.".
All the while the spider spoke, he continued to weave his web ... starting from the outside and working towards the centre. When Iktomi had finished speaking, he gave the Lakota elder the hoop with the web inside and said, "See, the web is a perfect circle with a hole in the centre. "Use the web with great care and discipline. Only then it will help you and your people. It will catch your good thoughts and bad energy will slip away through the hole.".
The Lakota elder passed this vision on to his people. Parents and grandparents started to recreate these webs for their families and named them: Dreamcatchers. Lakota believe the dreamcatcher holds the destiny of our future, whilst evil forces escape through the centre's hole and will no longer be part of our lives…
There once was a young Samurai who was rather brave but at the same time very lazy and this was a problem. He would sleep for hours in the morning, wake up at midday, then remember that he was supposed to be a some war but by the time he would arrive at the battle field, the war was already over. He once tried to wake up early but, because he was so sleepy, he drove his horse to the wrong battle field, only to find out that no one was there. And by the time he did get to the right battle field… the war had already finished.
One day he said to himself: “I will not miss another war again! I will go to the battle field at night and wait there till morning and be in time for the war to start.”. He did go to the field that night and he did wait till morning along the side of the field. But just before the sun came up and the other Samurai arrived, he fell asleep. He slept right through the whole war, whilst all the fighting was going on around him. By the time he woke up, he could see the last fighters leaving the field and he had missed yet another war.
All this made him feel deeply worthless. Why was he such a bad Samurai? Highly frustrated, he sat down on a rock in the middle of a forest. Then, an old woman came to him and told him: “Your vocation in life is not to fight but to save. It is your divine destiny. Go to the North of the country, behind the seventh hill. There you will find a hidden Kingdom. Nobody lives there except for the King and his daughter. Recently, the King has died and the Princess is all alone in her big palace. You must save her from her loneliness.”.
The young Samurai jumped on his horse and galloped through the country, all the way to the North, over the seven hills and ended up in the hidden Kingdom. It was strange to be in a Kingdom where nobody lived. Suddenly he stood in front of a great palace. Golden balconies dressed the façade and marble stairs went up to the main gate. He entered and called out: “Hello? Anybody there? …Princess?”. But the palace was silent. He looked in every room, in every corridor but everywhere he looked, all he found was emptiness and silence.
“The story of my life,” he uttered, “I am probably too late for this as well. I’ll just stay the night and head back tomorrow.”.
That night, the young Samurai slept against the warm belly of his horse until something woke him up in the middle of the night. “What’s that? Hello…?”. It sounded like a soft whisper and a gentle giggle. He followed the vague sound through the corridors, up the stairs and into a grand ballroom, which he had not noticed before. Christal chandeliers were holding brightly burning candles, a royal table was laid with the finest porcelain and silverware and the most delicious food was served on silver plates. And there she stood, at the end of the table; The lonely Princess!
She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Her eyes were wise, her smile was kind and her dress magical. The lonely Princess offered him a golden chair, handed him a glass of wine and allowed him to nibble at the delicious food. Heavenly music came from somewhere far away and the lonely Princess started to dance, in circles, around him. She danced and danced and danced. And the young Samurai followed her with his eyes; round and round and round she went. The whole room started to go round as well and the young Samurai turned and turned and turned and felt ever so happy. And finally…. He fell asleep.
As he woke up, there was no more grand ballroom, no more golden chair, no more chandeliers or table or wine or nibbles or music. The magical palace had vanished and so had the lonely Princess. The young Samurai found himself on a rock in the middle of a forest.
In his pocket, he found a note, written on the finest silk paper he had ever seen. It wrote: “Thank you, my dear Samurai. By allowing magic in your life, you saved me from loneliness.”.