Monday, April 02, 2007

Thinking about stories ...

Its full moon tonight and was the first day of the month yesterday. That means one thing for Queen Vixen, I draw all my symbols for the month. 'Oh right, we have a crazy woman on our hands,' I hear you cry. Well maybe, but hey what a ride!

The symbols I draw are ancient archetypes of life - runes, tarot cards, goddesses, and as such have value for me and countless other sorts you will find inhabiting the fringes of acceptability, and who have a penchant for cloaks, boots and the odd wand or two.

My Rune was ehwaz - the rune of motion, the rune of the horse. This casts a wonderful light on my path ahead, one of progress and development. Time to get off my arse and move forward! A timely reminder; with three post graduate assignments to be written, an oral examination tape to prepare and, though I am ashamed to admit, 3 years of learning journals to write before I get my big grown up qualification in September this year.

As I was contemplating my Rune I was aware of how all of this story stuff impacts upon me, tales and fairy tales - the fabric of life, the oral tradition. As someone who peers into minds for a living, and how wonderful it is! I am aware of how important stories are. Your favourite fairy tale says a lot about your life (must nod in the direction of the late, great Eric Berne for that one) and I invite you to think of your own stories.

Mine was Sleeping Beauty, oh how ironic. Kept away from the big wide world for so long, one under-age prick and I spent the next couple of decades asleep. Lets not even mention the prince.

My favourite story is Alice Through the Looking Glass - a desire to see the unusual in the ordinary and then to find myself wandering amongst the eccentric types always aiming for the eighth square where I can be a Queen and its all feasting and fun.

I also had a jaw dropping fixation with Ludo and the Star Horse by Mary Stewart, (first heard by my good self on Jackanory way back in the 70's) a wonderful tale of a boy who leads his horse through the land of the zodiac; saving said beast but having to return to ordinary life as a result. As he gets rescued from the snow at the end of his adventure he looks up and sees the golden horse shoe of his friend strike the top of the mountain while pulling the chariot of the sun. What became of Ludo? A wood carver, hardly thrilling! A script story I used to see to its conclusion all the time, being such a pathological rescuer by nature. These days its chariot of the sun for me too - sod the wood carving!

My childhood was infused with the wonderful musical tastes of my father, good old Steeleye Span amongst them. All of you waxy finger fans will know who I am talking about. (Saw them at Buxton Opera House this year - splendid stuff).

Thomas the Rhymer, Oh what a fabulous fabulous romp. Well, as a result, I have such a soft spot for anyone (male of course) who resembles a Thomas, once I get a wiff, he is up on the back of my white horse and off to fair Elfland to serve me seven years. No arguing or protesting allowed.

Having covered fairy tales, stories and even songs - I remember watching a dodgy 'play for the day' type programme on the telly when I was a kid. My mum let me stay up and I was bewitched by a tale of erotic love - a woman all dressed in white flowing robes, long hair, oh who does that remind me of? and who was torn between two lovers. One was a woodsman - all trees and living wood, the other was a potter - of the earth and darkness. She could not choose between them so they ended up fighting to the death: The last scene of the play was where she saw the door open 'who was victorious? who? who?' and then the credits came up, natch! I was left clutching my nine year old breast thinking how gloriously romantic it all was and secretly wanting the woodcutter to win. All you TA therapists out there will have already clocked the histrionic adaptation - and the blatant fondness for 'Lets you and him fight' but I am unashamed - blame the stories!

"One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it: - it was the black kitten's fault entirely." (Carroll 1866)

Ps: Hello Bobo, wave wave

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