The New Fairy Tale
The little girl in me still seeks her reflection in fairy tales. She hopes for a happily ever after. She craves a princess persona that will satisfy the comfort of others and provide a safe place to live within the kingdom of consensus reality. But alas — the little girl I was grew up to be a witch. The tender type of witch bitch who manifests feral feminine divinity. Who hunts the misconception of the wild woman and forages forgiveness. Who uses the words bitch and tender in the same breath and knows that paradox ismedicine. Who reminds me often of a sharp edged truth: the work of being human is ongoing. There is no happily ever after.
Let me be clear, she’s not a pessimist, but she’s wise to the myth of forever joy. Forever joy is static and the human condition is not. Forever joy is a shallow state where the evolution of the soul is neglected. So if there is no forever joy, I ask her, do I submit to forever struggle?
She laughs at my divided mind.
Believing in forever struggle satiates the shame self’s desire for punishment, she chants.
Believing in forever struggle recycles original sin and original sin is the oppressive belief that has suffocated our perfect, prayerful wildness.
Our perfect prayerful wildness can be intimidating. It’s not always comfortable.
It won’t hold still.
It is an undulating entity.
It bows down in reverence and stands up in fear.
It is ever-changing and shape shifting.
It cannot play by the rules because the rules reform constantly to support the evolution of wholeness.
We all want to find the answer or the playbook that will make the unpredictable plight of being mortal and free-willed less terrifying. I often crave an antidote for the anxiety of existence.
The witch bitch — who has been marginalized and martyred — the secret crone who returned Snow White back to her dreaming body — she smiles an ancient grin and looks at me with bold galaxy eyes.
The only thing that eases the anxiety of the human condition is to make yourself vulnerable until you make yourself strong.
Love yourself persistently as you grapple with the pain of not knowing how or when you will die.
Be present in every moment that you are not dying because reality is just that — a series of present moments and time is a grand illusion and a moment is a circle and a circle is infinity.
I nod my head and ask her to stay close.
I’m not there yet, but I’m roaming round’ her cauldron.
I’m learning how to alchemize my demons.
I’m preparing to cast spells of liberation.
I’m writing the new fairy tale.