The Skeleton Godmother with Pox, a fairy tale for enlightenment

Mice scurry in the village seeking bread and cheese. A crone with a basket drops crumbs, so soft is her heart for tiny things. And for you as well, no matter how insignificant you feel. Listen now to her tiny tale.   

Find what meaning you will.  

 

 

 

There was a ghost who was beginning to forget who she once was.  

She lived in the house in which she died, looking out over the gardens of her estate from the triangle attic window. On occasion, her husband visited the attic and caught glimpses of her. This happened less often as time passed.

The day came when he could not see her at all, no matter how frantically she waved her arms during lightning storms.

A great terror assailed the ghost: Who was she now? No one! Both unseen and unheard. Not only that. There was nothing specific in all the world for her to do. She did not matter.

Who was she now? No one! This left her bereft.

One day she sat staring out her triangle attic window when she saw a skeleton picking blackberries from a bush. Lonely, she gave it a wave of her ghostly hand.

How startling it was to see the skeleton move like a flash! The ghost next heard a knock at the door. She drifted downstairs and called out in blood-curdling voice, “Come in if you will. I am a ghost and cannot open the door.”

The doorknob rattled. It turned ever so slow. Next the door opened with a creak and a glow.   

There on the porch stood a skeleton with pox. The ghost recoiled, but upon closer inspection, she could see the pox spots were mere bits of blackberry stuck to its teeth and ribs. Still, it was a horrifying sight to have upon her porch.

Not wishing to be rude, the ghost warbled. “May I ask who is calling?”

The skeleton chittered its teeth. To the ghost’s wonder, she realized she understood the chitter as speech.    

“I am your skeleton godmother,” the poxy skeleton said, “here to reveal your deepest wish.”

The ghost laughed.

The skeleton godmother plucked a stray briar from within its ribcage and held it aloft like a wand.

The ghost laughed.

And yet she wondered, did the skeleton speak true? After all, it did shine bright like a true godmother might. The ghost decided to give it a chance. “I already know my deepest wish,” she curdled. “I want to matter, to be seen and heard. Will you wave your briar wand and break this grief of being no more than a ghost in the world?”

Chittering with poetry most beautiful, the skeleton godmother flourished its briar wand. A great wind began to blow and twist. The house did lift in its blustery fist.  

“Let it go,” the skeleton godmother chittered to finish its poetic incantation. “LET IT GO!”

I hope you understand how it is with ghosts. They are tied to the place in which they once lived. The ghost therefore had no choice. She hitched a ride upon nail and board. Caught in the twister, she came frightfully undone as she tumbled and soared.  

The house was obliterated. The ghost was left with neither the features of her face, nor the shape of her body. This rendered her utterly unrecognizable in any ordinary way.

What she once was had been stripped clean.

She could not have been more stunned to discover what she really was. 

Though nowhere in particular to be seen, she found herself sprinkled upon all things. And when she spoke, it was with the sounds of birdsong, wind, and rain.

And as for her husband, whom she loved so dear…

He recognized and loved this truth of her as he never had before. When he smelled a flower, it was her. When rain slipped down the shingles of his house, it was her. When wisdom hooted outside his window, it was her.

How could she have known such a grace only ever happened by letting go of what she thought she once was? Pay attention, for this may happen to you:

What the ghost most feared, turned out to be a wish come true.

 

Heaven on earth always surprises like this.

 

 

There is always a truer wish in your heart awaiting discovery. Be brave and know this: fear often heralds grand transformation.

Expect this transformation to take place within your awareness—a new perception of what has always and already been true.

I wonder…might you not be contained by your body, any more than the ghost turned out to be contained by hers? It does seem a bit far-fetched to believe our souls fit into our bodies, rather than the other way around. Don’t you think?

Perhaps you are seen and heard and KNOWN on a scale you don’t realize.

And never apart. Perhaps what you really are is everywhere.

Like fairy dust spread by a skeleton godmother.