Sufi Wisdom - Nasrudin Changes His Entire World

There are many stories about the Sufi wiseman/fool, Nasrudin. They are among my favorite stories. I always enjoy his upside-down wisdom. I enjoy sharing these stories when I perform because not only do the alter the perspective of the listener, they often alter the pattern of performance. By this I mean that we're accustomed to a particular rhythm in our stories - the badum, bump and ta da.
Nasrudin stories, like a number of indigenous cultures' folktales, are more bump, ta, badum, da.

"A philosopher, having made an appointment to dispute with Nasrudin, called and found him away from home. Infuriated, he picked up a piece of chalk and wrote "Stupid Oaf" on Nasrudin's gate.
As soon as he got home and saw this, Mulla rushed to the philosopher's house. "I had forgotten," he said, "that you were to call. And I apologize for not having been at home. Of course, I remembered the appointment as soon as I saw that you had left your name on my door."*

Badum, da.

*Story from Stories of the Spirit, Stories of the Heart - edited by Christina Feldman and Jack Kornfield, 1991

The Handless Maiden YouTube

The Handless Maiden

The Handless Maiden - one of the grimmest of the Grimm, yet full of powerful imagery and of course, a happy ending.

I find this story to be a profound and powerful one. I begin it with the Miller's search for the Tree of Life. This, the fabled tree from the Garden of Eden. Find this tree and be assured of a life free of toil, disease or old age. Like most of us, the Miller thinks to cut down each likely tree in order to determine whether or not it is the One he seeks. It begs the question, would the Tree of Life still confer its blessings after being cut down? Would it be possible to bring down such a tree? It turns out, that what prevents the Tree of Life from being hewn is the appearance of the devil, or dark stranger, if you prefer.

I was envisioning this as a modern film. I see Brad Pitt as the King, of course, Angelina Jolie as the Handless Maiden, Sam Rockwell as the Dark Stranger, Alan Rickman as the White Spirit, Glenn Close as the Queen Mother. This story has an elemental message that we would benefit from experiencing. It is complex, paradoxical, haunting, tragic and yet, culminates in triumph and reunion. It isn't an easy story to love, but then, so much of being alive is just like that.

Who makes the first mistake that sets this tragedy in motion? Would any of this have come about if that first mistep had not been taken? Is the Dark Stranger to blame? Is the Miller? What of the King so unconnected to his most important treasures that he nearly causes them to be destroyed? What we can say is that the Queen Mother follows her heart and wisdom and so prevents the finality of the worst tragedy.

Needless to say, this story isn't one I perform very often, perhaps only twice that I remember. It definitely isn't your library storytime fare, or elementary school assembly material. It's rare that adults will even want to take this journey on a storytelling evening. It is, however, one of my most favored stories - it speaks to my desire for simplicity and a sense of ease in life by showing me that the complete opposites bring a rich, sometimes dark, sometimes poignantly truthful, always real, complexion to being here.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

You may not realize it, but you have a story - a whole pack of them, really - about yourself and you tell them to yourself everyday. A few of them start with once upon a time, one or two may end and they lived happily ever after .... but most of them we don't even recognize as stories we've molded, edited and retold time and again.
The purpose of story is to explain, make sense of, find closure with, celebrate. It's through conscious creation of our versions of how things came to be and the way things are that the greatest power of storytelling comes into being.
That's where these old folktales are so helpful - they offer rich, archetypal images that we can use to play with the idea of who we are and who we wish to be. Nearly all the characters, settings, villians and problems are from time gone by and they can't be literal for us now. Their best gift is their ability to live only in our imaginations.
It's said that we can only change one thing - the way we respond to the what happens of life. We spend a great deal of energy acting as though we have control over our lives, but then something happens and the illusion is gone. Better to tell the story of how we can live with intention, define our path and move forward, knowing all the while that life will unfold as it wants to. Often, taking the steps along a path leads us exactly where we never expected to find ourselves. Much like the archer, the wood cutter, the handless maiden, the goose girl.
In Rumplestiltskin, the miller's daughter finds herself at the mercy of the king who expects of her something she cannot do. The lies of her father have trapped her and she is helpless to do anything. A magic man arrives - is it her tears that have summoned him? Would he have shown up anyway? She pays his price and he spins the straw into gold - this is a talent we all have, but too often overlook. She looked around the room and saw nothing but straw; he sees the stuff from which gold is made. Life can be like that. It's all in how you look at things, isn't it?
Lately, I've been bound up in the world of data and information, plans and goals, and had found myself in a dry, uninspiring land quite full of straw. I realize, now, that I'm surrounded by the stuff of which gold is spun and I might cry a little, at least enough to make the magic little man appear.

Woman of the Sea

I recently tracked down a copy of Katherine Briggs' British Folktales because I'd remembered it as being the source for the story I wrote about in my last post, a story I've told for many years, Woman of the Sea.  I'd remembered the title as The Seal Skin and it was a poignant, graceful version that I fell in love with immediately.  When I received the book, though, I was disappointed to discover that The Seal Skin wasn't in it.

This presents a challenge.  The recording I made of this a number of years ago is a pretty faithful retelling of the written version.   Now, I don't know for sure the source so I'm not able to credit it accurately.

So, if you listen to this tale and you have a lead on the source of this particular version, I would appreciate the info.

The Selkie

One of my favorite tales is a selkie story I found years ago in British Folktales, by Katherine Briggs.  The selkie is a being that takes the form of a seal when in the sea and sheds it's skin to walk about as a human on land.  It's said that the way to keep a selkie is to hide its seal skin, for it can never return to the sea without it.  Selkies can be man, woman or child and always find the way back to the sea that is their home.

In this version, a young hay farmer on the Isle of Unst comes upon a ring of selkies dancing under the light of the full moon in midsummer.  Stealthily, he creeps up, but is unaware that his shadow is before him and enters the ring.  That's all it takes, and the 'fairy people' run in all directions, picking up their seal skins and diving into the sea.  "...soon the air is filled with the sounds of their soft cries and splashes...".

All except one.

She is the most beautiful woman the man has ever seen.  She is running to and fro, looking as if she's lost something.  He realizes that his own shadow keeps her skin from sight and before she can realize it, he picks it up and hides it behind some rocks.

It would seem that this is a simple tale of a human finding a magical being for a spouse, a common motif the world over.  Or, it can be a story of ways we hold our own deeper, creative selves hostage, in order to experience union.

It is union with the wild, dark parts of our creative selves whose offspring bring us a sense of connection, awe, wonder and bliss.  By dark, I only mean those parts we ourselves are unfamiliar with, the places like the home of the selkie in the story.  "...where neither snow nor darkness ever come..."

Deep places in the self, that I am only able to commune with after removing the layers and layers of mundane, predictably human, daily life details.

I'm usually too busy for this - like the farmer - make hay while the sun shines, sort of thing.

It's on those potent midsummer evenings when the moon's in full, when the air brings forgiveness to the heat of the day's toil, when the sand shines brightly and the sound of the sea is a familiar and gentle love song.  Then, our potent, wild natures can be free to dance - for sheer joy.

What would have happened if his own shadow hadn't sent them running?  How was it that the selkies, themselves, had no shadows?  When we try to force our wild nature into domesticated life do we ever really experience the union we desire?

One tried and true method for tapping the wisdom of a story is to write a journal entry from the perspective of one of the characters.  Simply muse upon the events this character is experiencing from their perspective.  It's a journey with no destination - truly - the journey is the destination in this case.

It's also a gift - to your wild self.  Dive deep.