Eleven Blackbirds with Beady Eyes, a fairy tale for enlightenment

A strange fog thickens the forest around our crone’s cottage. Come away from the window, for no breath of wind disturbs our hearth’s fire—it burns bright and safe. Think not of approaching spirits or their awful whispers. If strange worlds bring you fear, the crone has a tale to hint of your fate. Listen quick, for the hour is late!

FIND WHAT MEANING YOU WILL. 

ELEVEN BLACKBIRDS RESTED UPON A TREE BRANCH FLOATING IN A DARK LAKE. 

They could see other birds swimming deep in the water around them but were each afraid themselves to give it a try. What a dark world it was! And it rippled besides.

A crone bird with wizened eyes arrived to sit upon the branch alongside the blackbirds.

“May I tip you over?” the crone bird asked.

She asked so gently and with such compassion—otherwise the eleven blackbirds would have paid her no mind. As it was, each blackbird considered her offer. And yet, there came an awkward silence.

The crone bird could see how anxious the blackbirds were. She explained how it would go. “At first you will be frightened,” she admitted. “But then you will be amazed.”  

One by one, each blackbird closed her beady eyes and nodded her permission to be tipped over. One by one, each felt the sudden push of the crone bird’s wing. And it felt like falling.

Eleven blackbirds flapped their wings in terror. When they opened wide their eyes, they did not understand. Their confusion felt like fear. Gone was the dark water of the lake. There were hills and trees. Not only that. Their wings rippled not with water, but with wind!

How amazed they were at this new earth and heaven.

Where they had already and always been.  

Eleven blackbirds had never rested upon a floating branch, do you see? All along they had sat upon a living tree branch in the sky, looking down upon a lake. There they saw a mirror image of themselves, distorted by the rippling of dark water. And they believed what they did see. I hope you understand. There were never swimming birds, merely the reflection of flying ones.  

But you can see how it was an easy mistake to make.   

That is the end of our story of blackbirds. Only us people here! Have a crumpet and a sip of warm milk, for then it’s off to bed you go.

Unless, of course, you are ready for a new story…

At first you will be frightened. Then you will be amazed. This story begins with a question. Please notice how gently and with such compassion I ask for your permission:

May I tip you over?

Depending on how deep you want to go down this rabbit hole:  Is the world even what you think it is? Could it be more than it appears?

And what of you…

May I tip you over?  I hope you subscribe to CRONE TALES.