Fairy Stories & Other Tales

 There's a certain kind of darkness that lies at the bottom of a deep, dark pit. No shadows are found there - shadows, after all are only found where there is even the smallest bit of light. This is true darkness. Anyone who finds herself in this pit thinks, of course, that the darkness is everlasting. But then she closes her eyes. Shadows dance across her eyelids. Wind brushes beneath memory. Light creeps in. Even if it only comes with her eyes shut.

 Once upon a time there was a little girl who couldn't sleep. So she got out of bed, pulled on her boots, and escaped into the forest. By day it was a forest of the usual kind. But by night it was, like all forests, enchanted. She had known this for some time. But she had yet to experience the enchantment for herself.      And the kind of enchantment she discovered was, to say the least, unusual.     It happened, that in her particular enchanted forest, when the sun dropped so low that the night was nothing more than darkness under the thick branches, the animals gathered in circles around pools of stars that had fallen from the sky unseen during the day. And there they switched their heads.     The badgers took on the heads of owls, the owls took on the heads of foxes, the rabbits took the heads of mice, and so on and so forth.      The little girl stared in wide-eyed wonder, as the animals calmly exchanged their heads and began to sip cups of tea. That was when the conversation b

There was once a woman filled with all kinds of wondrous intentions. Her heart longed to be filled with pity and compassion and delight and joy. But she was tired.      And so, her story was a heart filled only with longing.      There was once a man who wanted nothing more than to be kind. His heart desired nothing less than altruistic endeavors where all of his selfish wants and desires would slip away like smoke. But he was tired.     And so, his story was a heart of only wants and desires.      There was once another woman who was granted grace. Her story was different.     There was once another man who was granted grace. His story was different, too.     The difference was this: from grace came rest, from rest came good hearts, from good hearts came noble deeds. And when the man and the woman gave grace to other tired people, the world, as if by magic, began a far better story.

 The girl had an edge. The trouble was, it took a great deal to find it. It was like rubbing up against a dull knife only to find the one sharp spot with the center of your thumb. She bit. And she was judged for it.     But she didn't care. She didn't mind mostly being dull. Mostly, because she couldn't have born her edge had it been all of her. She took to honing her edge with the greatest care, and letting the rest of the dullness blanket the rest of her in bits of rust.     It came in handy with enemies.       Seemingly dull people always have enemies. Strangely, jealousy is often involved. Enemies of dull people tend to have anxiety problems, which isn't true for mostly dull people. They wanted her calm. Not that her enemies ever realized what it was about her that tickled their envy.     The girl used her edge to a purpose. It was designed for precision. It wielded her mind and turned it into a razor. Her enemies were right to unknowingly long for her gift.      Be