Wisdom in the Telling: Finding Inspiration and Grace in Traditional Folktales and Myths Retold

A Story Not Told, a

Song Not Sung

A Folktale from India Retold

There once was a woman who kept all her songs and all her stories to herself because no one took the time to listen to them. All of her memories and all of her longings remained buried deep within. All of her burdens she carried alone. After a time, her stories and her songs grew restless, for they wanted to be heard. They struggled to come out, but the woman could not share them. Finally, they made their way into her dreams. Night after night, the woman tossed and turned as the stories roiled around inside her. She could not get a decent night’s sleep.

What is the matter with you? cried her husband.

I do not know, she replied.

One morning, she was so tired that, after her husband left for work, she lay down on the kitchen floor and fell sound asleep. When she did, her mouth opened wide and she began to snore. The stories and the songs saw their chance to be free. They escaped from the woman’s mouth and flew out into the air. They hovered above her, staring down at her sleeping body, all alone on the wooden floor.

We cannot leave her here, said the stories. What will she do without us?

The stories turned themselves into a robe and hung on a peg by the bedroom door. The songs became slippers and rested underneath.

When the husband returned from work, he asked his wife, Who is here?

No one, she replied.

Who belongs to those slippers and that robe? he demanded.

The wife was at a loss to explain. I simply do not know, she said.

The husband and the wife began to argue, and when night fell, they still had not settled their dispute. Now, in that village at that time, it was the custom when a couple disagreed and could not settle their quarrel by the end of the day for the husband to spend the night in the Temple of the Monkey King. The husband stormed out of the house and went to the temple. He found a darkened room in the temple, and lay down on the floor to sleep.

The wife sat at the kitchen table and tried to make sense of things. She could not understand what had happened. Finally, she blew out the candle, put her head down on the table, and fell asleep.

Now, in that village when the candle flames were put out at night, they went to the Temple of the Monkey King to chatter and discuss the day’s events.

As the husband lay on the floor in the darkened room of the temple, one by one the candle flames danced into the room. They nattered back and forth, waiting for all of the tongues of flame to arrive. After a time, it became clear to the husband that one of the flames was late. Where is he? the rest sputtered.

At last, the tardy flame arrived. Where have you been? asked the others.

My couple had an argument, he said. The husband came home and found a strange robe and slippers by the bedroom door.

I’m sure he was quite angry! the others exclaimed.

Oh yes, but it isn’t what he thinks. The woman has stories to tell and songs to sing but no one ever listens. For years, she has kept them all to herself. This morning, while she was sleeping, they found a way out! The stories turned into that robe and the songs became those slippers.

When the husband heard that, he understood what had happened. He got up, walked out of the Temple of the Monkey King, and ran back home. By the light of the moon, he could see his wife slumped over the kitchen table. He awakened her gently. He took the robe and placed it tenderly around her shoulders. He bent down and put the slippers on her feet. Then he sat down at the table and said, Wife, tell me your stories and sing me your songs. I am here and I will not leave again. Tell me all that you have to say!

Throughout the night and into the next day, and for many days thereafter, howls of sorrow and peals of laughter filled that kitchen. The woman poured out her stories and her songs while her husband listened, and peace and joy filled both their hearts.

Our lives are shaped by the stories we tell and the stories we cherish. Our greatest spiritual need is to find meaning in our lives. We ask ourselves important questions: Who am I? What does all of this mean? Am I here for a reason? Who are you? How did all of this come to be? As we pause and reflect on our experiences, we try to find the answers to these questions. The events of our lives unfold within a framework of days, weeks, months, and years. We structure this passage of time into beginnings, middles, and ends. The past informs the present and reveals to us our dreams of the future, and we develop perspective. The seemingly random happenings of our days are threaded together and we discover the story of our lives.

If we do not share our stories, we become strangers to ourselves and strangers to one another. Through stories, we establish connections and realize we are not alone. As the other person makes known the details of a life, we recognize bits and pieces of ourselves, and the obstacles that separate us slowly dissolve. We bring to each other the moments of our lives, our fears, our hopes, our joys, and we nourish one another. Our burdens become lighter, our sorrows are eased, and we celebrate the ordinary and extraordinary occurrences in our daily lives.

2

Baucis and Philemon

A Greek Myth Retold

There are times when the gods become restless with the heavens and grow curious about the earth. They abandon their celestial home and travel the earth where mortals dwell. Long ago, Zeus, father of all the gods and humans, took a notion to leave the lofty peaks of Mount Olympus and visit the people in the land of Phrygia. He asked his son Hermes to join him.

If we really wish to see how they live, why don’t we disguise ourselves as ordinary mortals? suggested Hermes. Zeus agreed.

Late one afternoon, weary from walking all day, Zeus and Hermes came upon a town nestled in the midst of the hills. They stopped at a house to ask for rest and shelter. But the people in the house refused to let them in. They tried another home and were also denied entry. Door after door they knocked upon, but each and every person in that town turned them away.

What is the matter with these people? bellowed Zeus. Have they forgotten the sacred duty of hospitality? I tell you, this land would be better off without them.

The two shook the dust from their sandals and walked out of the town. In the distance, resting on the side of a hill, they saw a ragged little hut with a thatched roof and a door wide open. A few scraggly chickens wandered in the yard. A small garden was tucked up against the house, and nearby a gnarled apple tree bent toward the ground. Let us try one more time, said Hermes to his father.

As the two wandered into the yard, an old goose came out from behind the house, squawking and flapping its wings. When he heard the noise, an old man hobbled out of the house. He saw the two men, shooed the goose away, and called out, My dear sirs, you look tired. Come inside and rest.

The old man led them into the tiny dwelling and called out to his wife, Baucis, we have guests. The old woman rose from her place by the hearth.

Welcome, gentlemen, she said as her face broke into a warm smile. Philemon, pull up a bench so that our guests may sit down. As soon as their guests had settled in, the old couple began to bustle about. Baucis bent over the embers in the hearth, added some wood chips, and fanned them into a blaze. Then she put a pot of water on to boil. Philemon went out into the garden to gather vegetables and herbs.

Zeus and Hermes looked around the humble interior of the one-room cottage. The old couple had little in the way of worldly possessions. The furniture was plain and sparse. Earthenware dishes were stacked in the cupboard. Nevertheless, an atmosphere of contentment pervaded the room. Flowers filled a chipped cup sitting on the table. Herbs hung from the rafters. A basket of fresh eggs rested in the corner.

Philemon returned with a huge cabbage, a handful of onions, and some radishes. As the old couple prepared the meal, they worked side by side in a rhythm forged from many years of living together. They chattered to each other and entertained their guests with stories of their days and the history of the place. They had lived together for many long years, and times had often been quite hard, but their love and companionship had helped them shoulder their burdens.

The presence of visitors seemed to bring an air of festivity to the place, and Baucis and Philemon responded with warmth and generosity. Philemon pulled a bench toward the table and put sedge-filled cushions on it so that the two men would be more comfortable. Baucis covered the cushions with a coarsely woven linen cloth, one that she saved for special occasions. As she rubbed down the table with a handful of fresh mint, she noticed, as if for the first time, that one of the table legs was shorter than the rest. So Baucis took a piece of old tile and tucked it underneath to level the table. She held a bowl of warmed water before her guests so that they could wash their hands. Philemon placed the earthenware dishes and beechwood cups on the table. He took an earthenware pitcher and filled it with wine, not aged but new, and placed it in the center of the table.

Then the meal was served, a repast of simple and hearty fare, but more food than Baucis and Philemon ate in a week. They started with eggs baked lightly in the ash, radishes, olives, cherries pickled in wine, endive. A rich cabbage and onion soup was the main course. Afterward, there were apples, plums, and a thick piece of honeycomb to sweeten any of the fruit if it was sour. But as the meal wore on, the old couple began to notice something peculiar happening. Philemon had poured all of the wine he had into the earthenware pitcher. However, each time the last cup of wine was served, the pitcher seemed to miraculously refill itself. Baucis and Philemon became uneasy.

Finally, Philemon bowed his head and in a faltering voice said, Sirs, my wife and I took you to be simple folk, like ourselves. But now, I wonder …He hesitated before continuing, Who are you …?

Zeus spoke gently. You are right. We are not ordinary mortals. We are gods come down from Mount Olympus.

Philemon gasped. Please, my dear sirs, I apologize for our plain fare. If you are not satisfied, I’m sure we can find something more suitable. He glanced about the room and his eyes fell on the old goose who had wandered inside. Our goose might make a fine meal, if we stewed her long enough.

Hermes reached out and stroked its long neck. Do not harm your old goose, he said tenderly. Your food was just what we needed.

Zeus spoke once more. The people in this land have grown selfish and heartless. They will be punished. Only the two of you have shown us kindness. Save yourselves and come with us now!

Baucis and Philemon stood up. They reached for their walking sticks and followed the gods out the door. Zeus and Hermes climbed up the hillside as the old couple trailed slowly behind. When they reached the top, Zeus turned and glared at the valley below. Baucis and Philemon followed his stony stare and gasped at what they saw. The valley was engulfed in water, all trace of houses, roads, and people obliterated. The floodwaters raged upward, stopping just before they reached the old couple’s home.

Baucis and Philemon could not take their eyes away from the scene below. Ever so slowly, the waters receded and, as they did, the little hut began to change. The straw on the roof became denser and brighter until they saw that it was made of gold. The wooden posts holding up the roof turned to marble. And the door became silver, intricately patterned and worked.

Zeus gazed affectionately at the husband and wife. My dear Baucis and Philemon, you have opened your home and your hearts to Hermes and myself. What can I offer you in return?

Philemon was slow to respond. He bent his head toward Baucis and the two of them spoke together quietly. He nodded and then turned to Zeus. All we ask is to be able to stay in the place that is familiar to us. Let us serve you in the temple that you have created, and he pointed to their transformed dwelling. Oh, and one more thing, said Philemon slowly. We have been together for so long that we cannot bear the thought of being apart, not even for a moment. Please let us die at the same time.

Touched by their unassuming nature and love for each other, Zeus honored Baucis and Philemon’s request. For many years after the flood, they continued to live and serve in that place. But one day, as they stood together next to the temple, they felt a change come over them. Their feet sank into the earth and began to take root. Baucis looked at her husband. His arms stretched into branches and leaves began to sprout from his fingertips.

Good-bye, my dearest love, she whispered. Philemon leaned toward his wife.

Farewell, my love.

Their weathered old skin turned to bark and they were gone. In their place stood a linden tree and an oak tree, forever entwined.

In the Hebrew Bible, three strangers appear to Abraham as he sits outside his tent under the oak of Mamre. He and his wife, Sarah, welcome the men into their tent, graciously offering them repose and sustenance in fulfillment of an ancient code of hospitality. The strangers extend Yahweh’s promise to the couple and announce that Sarah, an old woman, will have a child within a year. There are many works of art based on this passage from Genesis, including the famous icon Philoxenia of Abraham, painted by Andrei Rublev, which uses this scene to represent the Christian Holy Trinity.

Philoxenia comes from the Greek and means love of strangers. This ideal of hospitality goes beyond the mere implementation of an obligatory code of etiquette. Foreigners in ancient Greece did not enjoy the rights of citizenship. However, the Greeks developed an ethic of welcoming strangers by placing them under the protection of the god Zeus. When you received a stranger into a public sanctuary or your home, it became a sacred act.

Cultivating an attitude of hospitality can mean several things. We can embrace the stranger, the one who is often rejected or marginalized, and treat that person with respect and kindness, opening up a space in our day-to-day lives where the stranger can feel welcome and valued. It can also mean developing a stance of openness toward the many possibilities that life offers to us. Our fears, our difficulties, even our creative urges and dreams often seem strange to us and we turn away from them. However, if we accept and welcome these things, they can provide us with opportunities for change and growth.

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Catch-the-Wind

A Slavic Folktale Retold

There was once a town, tucked down in the palm of a valley, filled with forthright people who earnestly followed the book of rules. Once a month, a traveling magistrate visited the town to administer justice and settle disputes. The mayor kept a record of all grievances in his absence. On the day of the magistrate’s arrival, those with complaints hurried to the town hall. The mayor consulted his list and patiently lined up the plaintiffs. One by one, he called them up to the judge’s bench to plead their case. The magistrate was a busy man who was only interested in hearing the facts. As he listened to each problem, he rested his chin on his hand as if the weight of personal detail were too much for him to bear. Enough, he announced gruffly when he had collected the necessary information. Then he opened the pages of a well-worn book and issued a decision based on a complex system of laws. At times, the magistrate’s penalties seemed too harsh; at other times, they felt too lenient. Nevertheless, the people believed this was the best way to maintain order and unity. They accepted the judge’s decrees and tried to live with each other as best they could.

One day, the magistrate arrived as usual. People filed into the town hall to await justice. Instead of seating himself, the magistrate stood in front of the bench and announced, The king has declared that this town is too small to warrant my services. From now on, you must settle your disputes among yourselves! He clutched the law book under his arm. The people watched in dismay as the magistrate and his rules disappeared from view.

That evening, the mayor called together the wisest men in the village. They assembled around the potbellied stove, their grave faces lined with worry. The mayor initiated the discussion. What shall we do? he asked.

One by one, the men stated their concerns. What will happen to us?

No one here is qualified to decide what is right and wrong.

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