One final peek into the 2nd edition of Fairy Godmothers of The Four Directions. Will be up on Amazon Kindle first week of April.
Chapter
Twenty
The
Fairy Godmother of the South
Cinderella
stood at the edge of the path leading into the Fairy Godmother’s
estate. The crunch of decomposed granite squeaked under her boots.
Sage scruffy yet fragrant drifted on the summer air. Yellow flowers
she didn’t recognize wilted on long stems, still attracting
butterflies in the heat of the day.
A
soft breeze floated. The warmth of the sun on her skin, she walked,
feeling the strength, the power of summer alive beneath her feet. She
shifted the weight of her back pack. She carried the treasures
collected on her journey of the Four Directions. Her dreaming shawl,
midnight blue - goat hair warmth – was a cocoon.
The
Fairy Godmother of the North gave her a walking stick filled with
powers Cinderella had no idea how to use. On the evening they spent
together in her cottage with the blue door she gave Cinderella a
haircut. The years of childhood length cut away Cinderella could now
be identified in the world as an adult.
From
her new friend the troll she was given a mink blanket and hundreds of
drops of incorruptible amber. Together they had shared an evening of
fierce conversations bonding over hot black tea and the Fairy
Godmother of the West’s gift of a never ending bag of cookies. He
had added a river of fossilized sap to her walking stick telling her
to draw on it in times of need.
The
Fairy Godmother of the East gave Cinderella her linen dress and pale
green shawl. “A shawl,” the Fairy Godmother explained, “is a
symbol of shelter and kinship.” She said, “Throughout time shawls
have provided warmth, a shield to the elements. Shawls can be a veil
to shut out the ordinary world and deepen into prayer.”
Her
shawl comforted Cinderella. It was a barrier against an unfriendly
world. Wearing it she felt protected. More importantly Cinderella
walked the Ceremony of Grace while staying with the Fairy Godmother.
A synthesis of elements including the Violet Flame of Transmutation
and the elixir of life, a journey she couldn’t put words to yet,
Cinderella was free of the pains of the past. She could marry the
Prince without the stain of grief she’d carried for so long.
A
thinly braided white gold rope melded with thousands of infinitesimal
diamonds, an anonymous gift she’d found at the bottom of her pack.
She suspected it was a gift from the Prince. The chain had a wicked
snap unleashed in the air. She’d used it thrown over a sturdy
branch to swing across the river. From a distance it looked
insubstantial, even delicate. Wearing the glittering chain rope,
wrapped around her waist as a belt, everyday it seemed more sentient.
As if it was attuning specifically to her. A magical tool with its
own powers, the belt was awakening just as she was awakening to her
strengths. She had only begun to understand its uses.
Ah,
her Prince. How could she explain how she felt in his company? “Weak
in the knees; yet stronger.” Cinderella felt her heart speed-up
thinking about their future. As children they dreamed of building a
Kingdom. They were on the cusp of making those dreams a reality. To
be successful Cinderella had to resolve the pains of the past and
savor the joys in life.
Apprenticing
to the Fairy Godmothers was an overpowering experience. Thrown into
situations she was completely unprepared to deal with seemed to be at
the crux of her training. She was on a quest to awaken the powers of
the Four Directions and embody their wisdom. Building on her personal
strengths to create beauty, prosperity these were the tools of a
Fairy Godmother.
There
were no words to describe the relief she felt to have completed three
of the Four Directions. “Yet even so I feel like more of a novice
then ever. It turns out awakening the Four Directions is a beginning.
This quest for wisdom and the skills to create, more kinds of beauty
than they have names to describe, is the journey of a lifetime. At
the heart of awakening the Four Directions is the journey of a
pickle. Once you are a pickle you can never be a cucumber again.
Blackie! I’m almost a pickle! And the million dollar question is:
Will the Prince still love and want to spend a lifetime with me? Does
he want me more or less when I’m a pickle?”
The
strap of her pack digging into her shoulder, she was ready for this
long day of walking to be over. A few more steps would bring her to
the wooden door encased in the adobe wall. She could glimpse parts of
the hacienda beyond the wall. “I count three chimneys. The Fairy
Godmother’s house must be enormous.”
She
was talking to Blackie but he lagged behind her, deeply immersed,
investigating the smells of the South. Cinderella had hoped by now,
having met three of the four Fairy Godmothers, she would feel calm,
self-possessed. But nothing unknotted her nerves. She was uncertain
of South’s requirements and her ability to succeed. “I doubt I’ll
ever feel comfortable in the presence of these powerful women.”
Sometimes
achingly compassionate and other times pinching or criticizing it was
impossible to understand Fairy Godmothers. Her palms were sweaty.
There was a familiar tightening in her chest. Her heart rate
accelerated from its normal thump to skittering with anxieties. She
was stepping into the field of energy known as the South and found it
heavy with the weight of long summer days. The sky gathering clouds
built ever higher in the afternoon heat.
Her
yellow linen dress stuck to her like glue. She walked with the staff
looped in the back pack across her shoulders. A tremor ran through
the wood. Engraved with symbols, they reflected her walk through
power. Something happened when she picked out her staff and again
when the Fairy Godmother of the East read the symbols Cinderella had
drawn and etched. A blast of power, the stick flashing incandescent
gold, “My staff feels heavier, invested with light, yet lighter to
carry.”
A
kind of awe filled her when she thought about it.
“What
lays ahead now?” Gravel crunched beneath her boots. “Am I
transforming into a Fairy Godmother?” A giggle escaped followed by
a solemn frown. “The Prince said something about finding the Center
and a throne. What did he mean?”
Her
journey through the Four Directions was undertaken to become a better
partner building wide ranging prosperities within their Kingdom and
someday to be a better mother to a future Prince or Princess.
Dreaming, accepting the challenges of the North, encountering the
Ceremony of Grace, she’d been forced to come to terms with the past
to release or resolve. “But how will studying the Four Directions
help me create well-being?”
Cinderella
couldn’t imagine ever being that powerful. Instead she felt shaky,
confused. She was trying desperately to catch-up on what her parents
might have taught her, had they lived. Before studying with the first
Fairy Godmother she barely had the strength to envision a life with
the Prince. Now she couldn’t imagine a future without him.
She
walked past a juniper and the occasional Pinion tree scattered beyond
the edge of the walkway. Their roots old and gnarled lay at the
surface of eroding earth. The Fairy Godmother’s home was surrounded
by an adobe whitewashed wall. A paver walkway led to the gate flanked
by the green trunked Palo Verde trees shading the path. Their small
yellow blossoms lay scattered below their branches. Now she was close
enough to see the wood grain on the door of the hacienda gate. A
sturdy bell hung in a built-in alcove next to the door. She heard the
gurgle of a fountain.
As
children the Prince explained to Charlotte the elements of building
adobe haciendas. He was taking a class in the construction of
buildings, a pre-requisite for a Prince to become King. The benefits
of adobe construction he explained were the thermodynamic properties
inherent in the density of walls. Adobe made primarily of sand and
clay, because the high thermal mass mediates both high and low
temperatures reducing the need for heating and cooling. Adding straw
or manure, Charlotte had provided the gagging noise, helped the brick
to dry evenly and reduced the incidence of cracking.
“Have
you noticed the wood beams in the castle’s first floor?” he asked
Charlotte.
“Of
course!” she replied with the heat of indignation. “You think I
don’t observe my surroundings?”
“Calm
down, calm down,” he laughed.
Charlotte
tilted her head to glare at him. “Is calm down your code words for
I’m sorry I insulted you?”
“Yes!
Yes! I surrender. Let me explain. Adobe is a heavy material. The
beams are necessary to contain the weight of the second floor. Some
people mistakenly think they are a decorating tool.”
Intrigued
Charlotte asked, “Why is adobe better than other building
materials?”
“Great
question!” the Prince smiled at her. “Adobe is a cost effective
resource and doesn’t deforest the Kingdom. Those Kingdoms chopping
down forests as building materials become Kingdooms,” he snickered.
“Also adobe is fire retardant.”
“I’d
like to take these classes,” Charlotte exclaimed.
Now
she stood in front of the South Fairy Godmother’s home, hesitating,
gathering her courage, she pulled on the rope. The bell clanged. Its
reverberation muffled surrounded in mud bricks. She heard water of a
fountain. A crow cawed in the distance. Heat shimmered off the roof
tiles. Window frames were painted blue. “Does blue paint really
keep the bugs away?”
She
heard approaching footsteps on Saltillo tile. The wooden door swung
open. Under Cinderella’s scrutiny the Fairy Godmother stood
quietly, her stillness in vivid contrast to her kinetic energy. She
had wide hands meant for the potter’s wheel. A round sun-browned
face held the joys of fun and play. Her greeting was as bright and
warm as the summer day. Tugging Cinderella’s back pack off the
Fairy Godmother pushed her into the courtyard.
Shy
Cinderella was at a loss for words. She stammered, “Hello. My name
is Cinder…. Charlotte. It’s nice to meet you.” She gathered her
courage to say ‘the name,’ her name; Charlotte, defiantly raising
her face to meet the Fairy Godmother’s eyes.
Sunlight
highlighted the Fairy Godmother’s hair. Cinderella had no problem
visioning her digging and pulling weeds in the garden. Her eyes were
brown set wide in an open face. Yet the Fairy Godmother wasn’t
simply artistic or earthy, she was also sophisticated. Her dress was
impeccably cut. Her sandals covered the top of her foot with a wide
band of navy blue ribbon. Delicate diamond bracelets surrounded her
wrist. She was poised and graceful.
Laughing
at Cinderella standing in front of her shuffling her feet she pulled
her toward a table under the shade of a mammoth oak tree. Pushing
Cinderella toward a chair she said, “Come. You’re late for tea.
I’ve set us up here in the shade of my favorite tree.”
The
tree was enormous. Cinderella gasped, “Its trunk is bigger than the
two of us put together.” Roots, thick as tree trunks, mirrored
branches. In between the roots the wrought iron table stood with
matching chairs covered in colorful canvas cushions. “Did the Fairy
Godmother of the East paint these cushions?”
Cinderella
paused with her hand to the tree and silently made her introductions.
Blackie who had trailed behind her was now barking at the wooden
gate. The Fairy Godmother waved at Cinderella, “get acquainted.
I’ll let Blackie in.”
Cinderella
dipped her forehead and rested it on the tree trunk. She felt like
crying. An oak leaf drifted down landing on her shoulder. She took it
as an invitation and swung up the nearest branch. She sat in the
curve of the trunk and branch. From here she could see bowls of water
and food the Fairy Godmother set out for Blackie. When she saw
Cinderella sitting in the arms of the tree the Fairy Godmother
laughed. Blackie barked. He seemed to be saying, “Get down. Get
down.”
Cinderella
slid off the branch and landed in the soft dirt. Blackie was lapping
water greedily. It had been a long, hot walk. Panting he settled on
the tile walkway under jasmine vines. Before long he closed his eyes
with a contented sigh. The sweet scent of roses snagged Cinderella’s
attention. Swiveling she caught sight of ceramic pots, the size of
chairs, glazed ocean blue on either side of French doors. Each pot
held well established yellow tea roses. Closing her eyes, with a sigh
matching Blackie’s, she said, “Wonderful.”
The
Fairy Godmother poured tea over ice into large glasses tinted green.
Light and heat, heavy with summer’s endless afternoons, reflect in
the moisture gathered on glass. Butterflies float on the perfume of
jasmine. A hummingbird dips its beak in the white flowers. The
buzzing of cicadas fills the courtyard. Synergistically they are
summers song casting a circle…of what? What is Cinderella seeing?
She sat up with a start. “Wait! I have cookies! The Fairy Godmother
of the West gave me…”
“Mexican
Wedding cookies,” the Fairy Godmother chimed in. She clapped her
hands, “My favorite. I taught her how to bake them!”
Cinderella
noticed an extra plate and arranged the cookies. Canvas bag, once
again mysteriously filled, Cinderella couldn’t help but wonder. Was
the canvas bag really generating cookies? Picking up a cookie and
examining it she huffed. A cloud of powdered sugar coated her face.
The Fairy Godmother laughed. Cinderella laughed too. Biting into the
cookie it melted. Sugar, butter, flour and bits of walnuts filled her
mouth. “Ummm...”
The
Fairy Godmother laughed. A rich sound encompassing the thunder of a
summer’s storm. Picking up her own cookie, “What,” she said,
“do you know of the South, Charlotte?”
Cinderella
swallowed her cookie and sipped cold tea. No ready answer sprung to
her lips. “Fairy Godmother,” she swallowed, “you have a
beautiful home.”
This
woman of the South, of summer’s heat trailing into twilight, said,
“Thank you.” Not to be deterred, she asked, “What does my
hacienda tell you about me and the South?”
A
curtain went down over Cinderella’s thoughts. She could only access
chaos born of her confusion. She felt young. She had a sudden memory
of times in childhood when her mother had given her directions and
Cinderella could not translate them into behaviors and corresponding
action. She said, “I’m sorry Fairy Godmother.” She swallowed,
“It’s childish but I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Good.”
The Fairy Godmother laughed and clapped her hands. “What do your
feelings tell you about the South?”
Was
this turning into a game? “I feel young. Is a young feeling part of
the South?”
Clapping
her hands the Fairy Godmother said, “Very good. Yes, the South is
the home of the child within all of us.” She leaned forward, “Do
you know what’s required in order to build a strong spiritual
life?”
Cinderella
was becoming more confused. She made a guess, “Meditation? Prayer?”
Tapping
a finger on her tea glass, the Fairy Godmother nodded. Cinderella had
a glimpse of dew strung across a meadow before dawn escapes the
horizon. “What,” the Fairy Godmother said, “do you bring to
prayer?”
When
Cinderella shook her head the Fairy Godmother said, “Innocence,
Cinderella. We are born wild and innocent. This connection lives
within us always in the land of the child.” Her eyes twinkled. The
idea caught Cinderella off guard. She couldn’t resist smiling.
Afternoon
deepened the green of oak leaves, the waxy jasmine. Heat radiated off
the whitewashed adobe. The Fairy Godmother continued. “The South is
the home of the material world. My home is a tangible
representation.” Waving an arm extended toward the house, she said,
“Its design and grace are the tools of the South.” Picking up the
chilled glass of tea, ice cubes tinkling, she paused, sipping tea.
Shade turned purple with approaching twilight. Putting down her glass
she added, “The answer to my earlier question? A strong spiritual
life is built on a material foundation in the physical world. Some
churches are meant to inspire with their grandeur. Inspire you to new
heights of spiritual awareness. A simple chapel may consist of four
walls and roof. You might find an altar in the wilderness. What do
they have in common? They are material representations of the
spiritual. Hence a spiritual life is built on a strong foundation in
the material world. The South is the tangible representations of the
spiritual.”
Cinderella’s
eyes grew heavy. Twilight crept into the courtyard. Head nodding, she
slumped in her chair. Dreaming the dream awake, climbing mountains,
Deer Fly fever and her visions compelling her through the Ceremony of
Grace, all combined to form a spiritual weight; her physical body was
not yet prepared to carry lightly. The long walk to the Fairy
Godmother’s hacienda all conspired to catch up with her as she sat
in the garden with the Fairy Godmother of the South. The residual
heat of the day lingered in the courtyard. She fell onto the cusp of
sleep, and caught a glimpse of the Prince, in a fragment of a dream.
But he wore an unfamiliar face. She jerked awake. A noxious odor made
her gag.
In
the approaching twilight the Fairy Godmother stood. Suddenly
Cinderella realized she was weak with fatigue. Her legs shook when
she stood. The Fairy Godmother said, “I’ll show you to your room.
Tonight I’ll send up a tray of food. The Prince tells me you like
rice and bean burritos with salsa and avocado, yes?”
Cinderella
giggled. “Yes. During Bridge tournaments the Prince and I would
steal food from trays in the kitchen. We ate in gardens, climbing
trees, in the basement game room or library, and occasionally in the
attic on stormy nights.” Her heart felt happy and light. She said,
“He remembered!”
The
Fairy Godmother nodded and smiled. Once again Cinderella notices
diamonds sparking at her ears. Thin bracelets studded with the gems
create delicate music. The Godmother’s dress is woven of threads
faded summer green and ripening wheat. It shimmers, reflecting heat
as the Fairy Godmother moves.
