Tag Archives: fable

The Mermaid

Today’s post is a bit of my short fiction.
From time to time, I will post something on that order.
This photo of surf and rainbow was taken on Ali`i Drive, Kailua-Kona HI
 

The Mermaid
Gingerly, she steps around the walkway encompassing the hull of the boat. She is deprived of the oxygen tanks’ guardianship this time. Only Spirit protects her. A new alternative reality begins. Capturing one final breath of the salt air, she plunges into the dubious nourishment of the salt water.

She comes to swim with the shark. She comes to be recreated, to become the virgin mermaid. Deeper and still deeper the woman is drawn into his world. Forever on the quest for Life, she carries the light that could guide her way, never knowing what lands will be found in the depths of this foreign territory. She knows, for this is not the first time she has been called to this place, yet time changes all.

Down she spirals, seeing life at every level. Schools of clown fish wiggle through their anemone playground, while angel fish glide quietly in their heavenly realm. Turkey fish compete for space with stone fish. Darts of color flash by as she peers into their temples. Ever watchful for the moray eel, she searches the crevice for friends to surround and join in her transmutation.

Preparation is needed to live in so many worlds: this world of water and wave, that world of sand and dust and danger, a world of tropical splendor, a frozen world. Will she endure? Another test of endurance? Of power and talent?

The passion begins, the body veers into a new form. Lungs expand to absorb the new life force. Arms grow stronger for stroking the tides. Hair flows behind her for stability. Hips broaden into solid encrustation as scales form to enable her survival in this new world. The vulnerable womanhood now hidden, she is granted safe conduct through a hostile outpost. Feet flow into one mass, supple and fluid, feathery.

Now more swiftly she swoops through the kelp, surging past the curious crowds. Her goal draws closer. The shark sleeps below, then wakes as her body generates ripples in the water round about him. He waits for the mermaid, circling … circling … circling as she arrives, but she is bold and fearless. No longer can his threats keep her away from her destiny, no longer overpower her genius, no longer stifle the transformations.

Together they circle and stalk, stalk and circle. Will he never fear? Will he always reign in this channel? Without a quaver, she perseveres in her mission. He cannot thwart her progress. He consumes her, denounces her, abuses her until she will yield to him. The woman will never succumb. She simply desires to swim in his space, beside him. Where is her solution?
~~~
From Feral Fables by Lucy L. Jones. To purchase check out my Author Page on Amazon.com.

Feral Fables

“For centuries, women and men have sought guidance and counsel to help them in processes of change, healing, and transformation.”

That is the first sentence in the introduction to my new book, Feral Fables. How many of us have checked the I Ching, or Animal Medicine cards, or the Tarot to see what they have to say to us? Not only is it fun, but it also can be enlightening in some strange, unexplainable way.

We are spoken to through many avenues. Insights may come like lightning bolts or in a still, small voice. A friend says something that strikes us as relevant to a question we’ve pondered. We hear a conversation that brings sudden understanding to a problem. A dream reveals an answer to a situation. We read a story that becomes more significant each time we read it.

Such is the nature of these fables. This is the sort of book you can tuck in your purse or briefcase and have handy at all times. At odd moments, you can pick a fable at random to see what meaning it can bring to your life. Whether you are male or female, youth or elder, there will be something of value in each brief fable.

What is a fable anyway? The dictionary describes it as “a fictitious story meant to teach a moral lesson.” I believe it is more than just a moral lesson. I prefer to say that it shows us “Truth” greater than “truth.” I wrote these to use as I worked with psychology clients who were looking for that Truth in their lives. You can do the same for yourself.

If you are an e-book reader, you can get your copy of Feral Fables by clicking here. If you prefer to have a hard copy, a place where you can write notes in the margins, then a hard copy will soon be available. I’ll keep you posted.

You can read these fables with the intention of finding clarity on some issue in your life, or maybe the serendipity will surprise you when you read them just for fun. In either case, please let me know your reaction to these wild tales.

Aloha!

Seven-Link Challenge

One of the blogs about blogging I read is ProBlogger. That’s a mouthful, isn’t it? This week, there was a challenge to respond to seven categories. I decided to take part, mostly because it requires some thinking about my posts in the past and where I’d like to go in the future. Here are the seven categories:

1) My first post.
I started this blog as a record for myself only. I was trying to make soil from compost and other materials in order to get something to grow on this acre of rocky lava we call a`a.

2) The post I enjoyed writing the most.
The reason I enjoyed this post is that it is about a special family event I wasn’t able to attend. My first granddaughter got married in October on the mainland and I couldn’t get away from teaching to fly over. Also, I didn’t take the pictures, but it showed several of my children and grandchildren. Needless to say, I shed a few happy tears as I put it together in a post.

3) A post which had a great discussion
I’ve written about lilikoi (Passion fruit) several times and each post brings more discussion than anything else I write about. Mainland readers probably don’t have a clue what lilikoi is, so it’s mostly Hawaii residents who get into great discussions about this fruit with an unusual flavor.

4) A post on someone else’s blog I wish I’d written.
My brother writes a blog that is way more popular than mine, and he tells of great things to do in and around the Tampa Bay/St. Petersburg area. Like me, he writes about his travels. He and I had just been to England, and we both loved London. I absolutely love this post he did all in black and white photography. It gave me an entirely new perspective to London.

5) My most helpful post.
This post was about a little book that has guided my life and the lives of others over and over. If you are looking for a way to set goals and objectives for the next year, this is the book that will help you.

6) A post with a title I am proud of.
I think the reason I’m most proud of this title is because it represents several decades of waiting to have my book of the same name published. It is about a book I used in my psychology practice and with students. It can also be a self-help book by exploring some hidden meanings in your life.

7) A post that I wish more people had read.
This was posted to honor AIDS Day, and invites us to look at our lives and how we respond to unexpected events in our lives. AIDS awareness is growing, but still not enough.

It took me a while to decide on each of these categories. There are so many posts that would fit into each category. After looking at these seven posts, I get a good sense of where my pleasures reside in writing this blog. My topics have evolved quite a bit over the past two years, and on an unconscious level, I think I have been going in the direction that most suits me best.

I hope you are finding these rambling posts helpful when you garden or cook or travel or reflect on life.

A hui hou!

Aloha!

Feral Fables, my newly published e-book, will be available for a special promotional price of $2.99 until August 1, 2010. Go here to to buy or sample Feral Fables. Use the promotional code “SL25S” (not case sensitive) at checkout.
Mahalo! (Thank you!)

Feral Fables

 

Those of you who have been reading this blog over the past couple of years may remember that I have offered you a few fables from time to time. I wrote them to use when counseling clients. They can be used to help you evaluate your own life, or simply read slowly for your own enjoyment.

If you want to go back and read them on my blog, here are the links

The Purple Chrysanthemum
The Singer
The Mermaid
Luz de la Vida

I have recently published all 36 of the fables as an e-book, Feral Fables. If you want to sample more of the book and/or purchase it for $3.99 to read on your computer, go here.

Please let me know what you think, and mahalo for your support. I’ll be back to my regular posts this weekend.

A hui hou!

Luz de la Vida

Today’s post is a bit of my short fiction.

From time to time, I post something on that order.

This banner is one I made many years ago.

 

Luz de la Vida

 

The StoryTeller woman lives in a harbor this side of the sea, near a spurious border between two kingdoms. Once, as long ago as yesterday, the whales and dolphins and other creatures of the sea gathered around to assist on the day of her birth. The name they wrote on her Certificate of Birth was Luz de la Vida, “the light of life.”

From the moment she emerged out of that watery place of all birthing, those briny creatures of wisdom saw the light hovering in the ovaries – in that deep, warm and wet dwelling place of all seed.

“Look!” they said, as they celebrated the wonder of her birth. “There is a light! It must have always been there, but it was not visible until this very moment – not until her birth!”

A few scattered herders of sheep, keepers of land animals, scurried across the fields and arrived in time to witness an inconceivable birth — the birth of Luz de la Vida. This happened merely because they heard some curious music in the wind. They came to see for themselves what was happening.

Still, it was those wise creatures of the deep who first saw Luz de la Vida. They saw the light hovering within her. They followed it and they brought her gifts. In that moment everyone around came to know Luz de la Vida in their own hearts.

Luz de la Vida developed into a lovely, luminous and wise woman. Everyone knew, but no one said, that Luz de la Vida even knew when the sea was born. No one knew, and everyone said, that Luz de la Vida had no name for herself, but was known by all as simply Luz.

Now, each day before the Sun grows up, Luz sings her lullaby to the Moon, and offers her day to the world. She sings her message of Emmanuel as the sea gulls play the wind and the pelicans sit on the rocks to eat their fish. She sings her message as she bakes her bread, hangs out her laundry, scrubs her floors, as the coffee pot perks out a rhythm. She tells her stories to all who stroll by and does her best to lighten their day in her other-world by the sea.

Many wonder if Luz really is, or if stories need a figure to play out her special role. Luz looks under rocks, under seaweed, under docks or among the crabs, she watches the waves for life. She consults the universe with the mind of a million years. We never escape her — she’s crazy, she’s wonderful. She’s fun, she’s scary, she’s unreadable and she lives.

I met Luz one day. She called me from darkness into the light of my own birth.

“Come,” she called. “Come find a light in the midst of your chaos.”

It was in this way that the luminous spirit within Luz gave me a new beginning. Like the Magicians — those others who were led by Luz — I, too, was given her bright star for direction and endurance.

“Here,” she said, “here is the path that leads to the presence of light.”

Her hovering presence lingers in curious ways. She is there when the tired, stifled center of the typhoon passes through my days. She hovers silently during those ceaseless shadowy struggles within my soul. Luz stands by with healing poise as I shiver fearfully in the hospital. Luz swirls through the ruthless torments of my spirit.

When I permit it, she seeks me out as I grapple with responsibilities. When I believe I can find my way without her light, Luz emerges. When all purpose for my life is misplaced, she calls me into a light of rebirth. She arrives in seasons of resurrection. Luz touches my body, my spirit, my mind. She comes, calling my name, your name, Luz comes. I see her, I hear her call. She demolishes my darkness, invites me to dance, nudges me forward to answer to life.

Mele Kalikimaka!

The Singer

Today’s post is a bit of my short fiction.
From time to time, I will post something on that order.
Photo of lava flow taken at Hawai`i Volcanoes National Park, Hawai`i Island

 

The Singer

 

A primal aurora gives birth to color, from muted blues through brilliant sapphire to a deep azure, until the horizon is thick with cloudless black indigo. The awakening valley is surrounded by rough crags, whispers of creation are heard. Throughout the realm, the gauzy wrap is shoved aside to reveal an unimaginable panorama of fluid rock.

Pele, feral Goddess of the Volcano, pushes her creation process across the distant edge of the world, slithering forward over the solid ground, hot and bloodthirsty, greedy to expand and own a solid empire. Her pleasure sends vast fields of melted ash, smooth swirls of licorice fudge that can only be eaten by titanic warriors and calls it pahoehoe. Her raging and mercurial lunacy ejaculates nuggets from Her bowels, heaps them along the path and names it a’a.

The forlorn music of the harmonica drifts over the wind, telling tales of the legendary yet carnal Goddess. The watcher appears through the mist and haze to witness the birth of new land. This witness drops the harmonica on the promontory, lifts his head to sing, becoming another voice on the wind. The stories are heard by villagers beyond the fresh terrain.

“Let us go to see this virgin affair that has come to pass,” they murmured to each other.

“Yes, we must organize a quest to see the achievement of our savage Goddess,” one said.

“Who will coordinate the preparations for our journey?”

“How shall we research this phenomenon?”

“Who will finance such an enterprise?”

The Singer hears the confused deliberations and weeps for the paucity of their perception.

“No, no!” the Singer calls. “This quest must emerge from your hearts, from your intuitive and individual Self, not from your structures or formal institutions. Let the fire of the Goddess be your guide. Give yourself over to Her for strength and sustenance.”

“But She is a jealous Goddess,” the villagers cry out. “She will destroy us all.”

“She is a Goddess of Love,” the Singer reminds them. “It is She who created you, it is She loved you into being. It is She who loves you enough to make a new land for you so you can produce vineyards and forests.”

“And why does She seem so angry?” a leader asks.

“Love and anger are not opposites,” the Singer says. “If She did not care about you, She would not be angry with your lack of initiative, your abuse of talents, your shortage of foresight. It is Her way of providing a new opportunity to once again belong to Her, to be Her children. Bow down before Her and let go.”

And so it was that the land cooled and began the centuries of decomposition providing fertile fields for their needs. Each morning as the day breaks, the Singer once again calls Her forth with his music. Each evening, the Singer praises Her with song, and She calls it good.

 

The Purple Chrysanthemum

Today’s post is a bit of my short fiction.
From time to time, I will post something on that order.
Photo taken at Kalopa State Park, Hawai`i Island.

 

The Purple Chrysanthemum

 

Chores never cease, never subside. Menacing dark corners tower above and below her, dusty and dank. Driven here, thrust there, the woman frantically toils in vain. In every quarter of the luxurious home she unearths wads of shabby rags, inside bureau and closets, beneath tables and beds, over shelves and bookcases.

There is no seclusion here. It is no longer her home. Aliens invade, then abandon her in chaos. Serenity is shattered in the assault.

In a frenzy, she searches for one spot, one haven of beauty where she may hide from the muck and gloom, sludge and shadow. She is imprisoned and enslaved by the moment, shaken and disenchanted by infinity.

Others chart her headway as she labors, then regresses. Despondently she presses onward, now advancing, now reversing in an endless non-dance. Joy pales as the obstacles flourish in neglect. Song is stilled, light fractured, until she spots an overlooked box, unobtrusively tucked away behind the bureau.

In dismay, she lifts the lid, supposing it to be filth-filled, or barren at best. A small packet sheathed in foil rests inside, dormant yet dazzling in its obscurity. From the crumpled edge of the opening there protrudes a long green stem, crowned with a large purple chrysanthemum, blossom of her soul. An abundance of petals, long and delicate, unite around a pollen-filled golden center.

Tears fall as she recalls the moment she clipped the bloom from its parent. Tenderly she had placed it into nourishing water where it could take root and grow. Now long forgotten, the chrysanthemum has flourished, alone and in the inky obscurity of the ragged box. Surely it was withered and dead by now, for many moons have passed. Other celebrations have come and gone, but the blossom remains.

She pauses, then meticulously peels back the foil covering. That which was dormant for so long has burgeoned with fragile and lacy roots. What once was a flower, cut off from its source, has sprouted in the dark, unattended and ignored.

Weeping, she holds the hardy segment of beauty in the palm of her hand. The tiny bit of life, buried in the pit of her soul, is resurrected and retrieved. The purple chrysanthemum will never perish. She will survive.