About five years ago or maybe more, I was having a mid-life crisis and I realised I needed to dedicate myself finally to the one thing I had never dared explore- creative writing.
I found an amazing beginners course and the first lesson was about writing a personal myth.
I remember being shocked at the incredibly clear message which came through this apparently simple exercise. Knowledge inside me which I hadn’t wanted to listen to. I rediscovered it this morning and thought you might like it.
‘Snuggle down my love and I’ll tell you a story.’
I did as I was told, and grandmother pulled the knitted blanket tight around my chin and sat down heavily next to me. The mattress sagged and sang under her weight.
She settled down and her eyes took on a faraway gaze which I knew meant she would be transporting me somewhere magical.
‘Once upon a time, in the not so distant past, there was a winged unicorn,’ she began, her voice soft and her accent lilting and musical.
‘But Nana, Unicorns don’t have wings.’ I protested.
She turned to me her eyes warm and loving, ‘And how do you know?’ she replied, ‘Shush now and listen.’
‘This unicorn was exceptionally beautiful, it had a long transparent horn, shining with magic and its coat was sparkly with the myriad colours of a million butterfly wings. When it flew it was as fast as the wind and when it landed, as gentle as a sunbeam.
It was young and powerful and it flew around helping others with their burdens and problems and never asking for anything. It became a familiar sight to see people knocking on her stable door all times of the day or night just to touch her mane, or rub her magical horn.
One day, she met a Waterhorse, strong and dark and as practical as she was ethereal. They seemed to compliment each other perfectly. They loved being with each other and one day a little colt was born. Because Unicorn had so many people asking her for help she left her little colt in Waterhorse’s care and went back to work. Waterhorse stayed at home and she went out early in the morning and came home late at night.
But as time passed, she stopped taking care of herself, stopped bathing in the magical pool where she regenerated her powers. Never found time to fly to the top of the volcano to eat the rare grasses and wild flowers that grew there so as to feed herself the proper nutrients she required. She kept saying tomorrow or next week and people asked for her help and she gave it willingly, never making time for herself.
Gradually she became weaker, and still she pushed herself every day. The queue of people asking her for help seemed to grow, and while this made her feel worthy and useful, she was tired, and sad. She never saw her little colt, he spent all his time at school or with his father, the Waterhorse, and when she came home he was ready for bed.
Then one day as she was zooming about here and there doing this and that she felt a pain in her stomach. A sharp pain which made her stop suddenly and come down to land. She rolled on her back trying to ease it, but it would not go away. She decided to go to the wise man on the hill.
He took one look at her, and treated her stomach with his golden acupuncture needles. She felt much better immediately and thanked him, promising to come back next week. She flew home to their stables, and when she opened the door, and saw the mess it was in, and realised there was no food or drink for her and that she would have to go out and get it and make her bed before she could sleep that night because no one would help her she burst into tears.
It was a revelation to her, all her life she had dedicated herself to others, never asking for any help herself. She had lost her friends because she never made time for them, lost her health and her magic was fading because she had never taken care of herself and she was lonely and sick and it was all her own fault. She lay down in her unmade bed that night with her rumbling tummy because she was too tired and exhausted to do anything else.
The next day she put up a notice on the door with times she would be available to help others. Almost as soon as she shut the door, someone knocked at it. It was 6.30 in the morning! She opened the door to see who it was, it could be an emergency after all.
It was Foxy. ‘Can you help me pick the cherries off the highest branches? I can’t reach,’ he asked.
‘Sorry Foxy,’ she said finding it incredibly difficult to say no. ‘Look at the notice, I am available from 9.30 Monday to Friday. Please call back then.’
‘But someone else will have already picked them!’ he cried desperately.
She felt guilty seeing him crying but she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you Foxy.’ And she gently closed the door. And breathed deeply.
It was the first time she had ever said no to someone and it didn’t feel good. But she knew it would get easier and that practice makes perfect.
She also started dedicating a little time to herself, and early in the morning she would fly to the top of Etna to drink the dew and eat the rare grasses and herbs that grew on its red and black slopes. Her magical powers and her creativity recharged, she would fly home happier and more powerful than ever, and her family and clients benefited enormously from these life changes she had made. And of course, she was happier and was able to enjoy her son’s company and appreciate the flowers and birdsong which she had been forgetting to do for so long.’
Granma leant down to kiss my forehead, and through my half closed lashes I caught sight of an old tattoo on her upper arm, blurred and distorted by now.
It was a winged unicorn with fire flashing out of its hooves and mane as it flew across her freckled skin bestowing magic on whoever saw it.
The amazing writing course I attended was supplied by https://allaboutwritingcourses.com
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