Ariel Meets The Black Prince

There is a terrific story from Egyptian folklore, called The Black Prince.  I learned it years ago from a recording by an enchanting storyteller, Laura Simms.  I've also read it in Ahmed and Zane Zagloul's book, The Black Prince and Other Egyptian Folk Tales, published in 1971.  I've enjoyed the entire collection presented in that book.  There is truly a unique flavor to these tales and they convey a sensibility which feels authentic - although not having traveled to Egypt, I can only guess at such things.

What struck me when I reread it recently was a notable difference between Simms' version and the one in the book which claims it "contains sixteen representative Egyptian stories hitherto unpublished in the English language."  This leads me to believe the stories are fairly intact as written.

Simms makes a few alterations, to make the story her own, I would assume.  The Zaglouls' version reveals to us that Habi has no need of the offerings of others - no payment for the unique and dark service he renders.  He also doesn't seem sinister, nor does he seem particularly foreboding.  The Simms' version has Habi asking for the young boy's handmade flute - his prize possession and ultimately the expression of all that he is and all that is deeply true about him.

I find, now, that contrary to 10 years or so ago, I no longer like this idea.  First, rereading the Zaglouls' book, I have a renewed sense of the spicy, rich character of these Egyptian folktales and perhaps even the people who told them.  Suddenly, today, Simms' version reminds me of the Disney story of Ariel, the little mermaid who gave up her voice for love.  She, too, was transformed, perhaps irrevocably.  This makes me wonder if this idea is uniquely Western.

Habi does what he does, because he does what he does - he doesn't require payment from the recipient of his gifts - the one who makes the choice to undergo transformation in the name of true love will find there is enough payment to be made by the time the circle of the story closes. 

Interestingly, to me, is that the original Little Mermaid story has an ending more in common with the Egyptian folktale than with the Disney movie.

Is there wisdom in this story?  Lots.

Have I talked about any of it?  I don't think so.  I'm just beginning to keep company with this story - as it was originally told - the dial's on simmer and the savory essences are just beginning to be released.  It's a complex tale, although at first glance I don't think it's obvious.  It's taken me 10 years to hear a different resonance in it.  It could take 10 more for me to find  the still places within it that speak the most truthfully.

I can live with that.

Chickpeas and Chickens

It seems to be Nasrudin season for me. I was recently musing on the story of Nasrudin and Chickpeas. I attended a history discussion about the American colonists and how it is so very important to keep in the forefront of one's thinking that the American colonies could never have been successful had it not been for the abuse and murder of the Native Americans and the African and African-American slaves.

Nasrudin, you see, lives on a diet of chickpeas (garbanzo beans) and water. Very bland, although healthy and nutritious. He wears simple clothing made from unrefined fabrics. His home, while comfortable, is plain.

He is invited to dine at the home of a wealthy man who dresses in the most brilliant finery, eats the most luscious, expensive foods and lives, as you may imagine, in a fabulous home. This man has earned all this luxury by flattering and being subservient to the Emperor.

There are many guests, and this wealthy man can't help but point out to all the difference between his lifestyle and that of Nasrudin. So much for the rewards of being wise, of being hodja - "Nasrudin, you know, that if you would simply do as I do and subserve yourself to the Emperor, flatter him at all times and make yourself low to him, you, too, could live a life of luxury as I do. There would be no more meals of chickpeas and water." The guests all nod in agreement and wish they, too, might have this life.

Nasrudin eats quietly for a moment, 'If you, too, were to live on a diet of chickpeas and water, then there would be no need for you to subserve yourself to, and be a flatterer of, the Emperor."

I see that a genuine study of American Colonial times must tell all the truth, that without the heavy price of lives, blood and even souls, this country probably wouldn't have become the nation it became. What price, the soul of a nation?

Today, I ask myself - 'what cost, my soul?'

Forgiveness and Might

There's a wonderful character called Nasrudin.  He originated in Sufi stories, but has made his way to other places around the world.  The Nasrudin tales are among my very favorites because his wisdom is always upside down.  He is known as a hodja, a wise fool.

In one story Nasrudin is standing in the busy marketplace waiting for someone to point him out as an idiot.  It's an interesting occupation, as you can imagine, while we are all working so hard to be seen as bright, capable, resourceful, reliable, steady and smart.

The game was this - everyone was aware that Nasrudin was an easy mark - someone would come up to him and say, 'Mulla, choose from these two coins, which one is better?!'  There was always a coin of lower value and a coin of substantially higher value.  To the delight of the jokester and those looking on, Nasrudin always took the coin of lesser value.  They would hoot and laugh at the foolishness of an old man - wise fool, indeed!

The next thing you knew, there was another person making the same offer to Nasrudin, ready to pounce on him with derision about his idiocy for not knowing the difference between a valuable coin and a lesser one.  The crowd often seemed to love this game enough to have it go on for hours.  Nasrudin never once chose the more valuable coin, never once become distressed or upset at being proclaimed an idiot.

Hmmmm, what story wisdom do I find here?  The story's punchline lets us in on Nasrudin's joke - he knows that if he, even once, chose the more valuable coin the game would be over.  As he says, ' if I took the larger coin then people will stop offering me coins in order to prove that I am more idiotic than they are.  Then I would have no money at all!'

It seems the wisdom of this tale lies on its surface, until I listened to Dr. Uma Mysorekar talk about Forgiving Someone Who Has Hurt You.  Her talk brought this story to mind.  I began to see that the money in the story is a symbol for the strength that she is talking about.  That each time Nasrudin accepted the invitation to play the coin game he was practicing Forgiveness and as a result was greatly rewarded.  If he ever were to take the road of showing the world that he was no fool he would lose the richness that came to him by being wise.

It reminds me that the path of evolving will often exclude the praise of the crowd.  It reminds me that the quiet knowledge that one is building one's inner strength has greater rewards than the opinions of others.  Now, if only I could find a marketplace where people would offer me two coins..........

Where o' where

I recently attended our Symphony's opening concert. One of the pieces was Symphonic Dances from West Side Story by Leonard Bernstein. I don't have a great deal of background in classical music so I'm always open to hearing the music as it is that evening as opposed to having any opinion about a particular piece.

When I heard the Symphonic Dances I was elated. It has such character, movement and richness. This is a piece of music that tells a great story. It probably helps to be somewhat familiar with the plot of West Side Story, because the various movements lead the listener yon and thither.

At intermission, a group of friends were gathered and one woman who I know only peripherally asked where I tell stories. She'd only just learned that I did.
I'm always stumped by that question. I usually respond by asking another question: "Where would you go to hear a storyteller?"

'There's a place for us......' These days stories are told in books, movies, music, visual art, theater - but where is the place we go to sit in the company of a traditional tale teller and engage in the Art of Story? A place where we share not only words and ideas, but a common emotional and spiritual experience.

There are festivals, to be sure, but this feels too isolated from the day to day experiences we all share. Storytelling is a daily activity. It is a cathartic activity. It gives each of us insight into ourselves and into one another.

Let's find 'a place for us.'

Rumplestiltskin

While preparing for a storytelling performance, I was reviewing Rumplestiltskin - it was the first folktale that awakened me to the deeper power of story. I haven't performed it in years, but was considering it for my Harvest Stories From Around The World program.

So far, the theme seems to be sowing what we reap, sort of thing. I'm not big on stories with obvious moral lessons. They don't hold the elegance of a tale that makes me wonder if right is really right, or if maybe my opinion isn't really more about me and less about how things are. I really love a tale that makes me question my assumptions. Rumplestiltskin, perhaps because it is such an old friend, has become inelegant to me.

It's not the story - it's me.

Like any doorway into deeper understanding, what I see says more about me than about the doorway. I'm beginning to suspect there's more gold to mine in this story - the question is....am I willing to sit with it? Am I willing to enter with eyes wide open and allow my heart to inform me?

Yes,
I can.