Meeting Simorgh

'Journey' stories that tell of a spiritual quest have always fascinated me.

As a little girl I used to beg my story-telling great grandmother to read me The Pilgrim’s Progress again and again. I would listen in wide-eyed wonder at the young man Christian’s efforts and tests, shuddering as I anticipated the moment where the character called Ignorance, who like Christian, had managed to overcome many obstacles and get right to the gate of the Celestial City, but could not produce the essential document for entry, was carried by the Shining Ones to a door in the side of the hill from where he was whooshed down back to the bottom.

When my Iranian husband gave me a translation of a favorite spiritual journey story, the Persian mystic Farid-ud din Attar’s Manteq at-tair or The Conference of The Birds, I came across another set of sometimes enchanting and sometimes maddeningly obscure stories-within-stories that would freight me on another journey of deep understanding of the difficulties and joys of the chosen path, of deep identification with the Divine Presence, of affirming that presence within myself and all around me.

In its basic outline, the book starts of as the birds of the world gather together to seek a king. The Hoopoe bird acts as the sheikh, the leader and guide, tells them they do have a king, the “Simorgh”, who lives far away across seven valleys, though “He is always near to us, though we live far away from his Transcendent majesty.”

The Hoopoe also serves as Attar’s ‘voice’ – aided in the Persian language by the absence of quotation marks, which at first is confusing for the reader; is it Attar or the Hoopoe speaking? Later you realize it doesn’t really matter.

The Hoopoe/Attar says at the outset: “Do not imagine that the way is short; vast seas and deserts lie before his court. Consider carefully before you start; the journey asks from you a lion’s heart. The road is long, the sea is deep – one flies buffeted by joy and then by sighs.”

At first, the birds, “…Effusively responded to his words. All praised the splendor of their distant king. All rose impatient to be on the wing.” But reflecting on the journey’s length, they already show their hesitation: “… Their ambitious strength dissolved; each bird according to his kind, felt flattered, but reluctantly declined”

The birds, “each according to his kind”…

It’s easy to be amused at the penetrating pictures Attar paints of each bird just through its excuse, showing us the seduction that holds back each one from taking the first step. Only when we turn the mirror in, towards ourselves – a picture of our own reluctance and ‘reasons’ to embark on a journey we profess to desire strongly is shown up, and the amusement gives way to discomfort.

The Nightingale claims he cannot leave his beloved rose. “It is for me she grows. What greater bliss could life provide me anywhere than this?” He is shown to be seduced by being needed.

The seduction of the Peacock is his knowledge of the familiar. He is fixated on the past, lost now, but still definitely more real to him than: “The king you praise; too unknown a goal. My inward gaze is fixed forever on that lovely land – there is the goal which I can understand.”

The Duck is seduced by her present comfort zone – the water, but cloaks this as her proud obedience to the rules of prayer and purity that the water helps ensure. She makes no distinction between the purity of her environment and her own – the one implies the other.

For the Partridge his form of seduction lies in his possessions, his jewels he cannot be parted from, as he claims they are eternal. He rationalizes it this way: “To yearn for something other than a jewel is to desire what dies – to be a fool.”

The Finch’s odd seduction is her excuse of smallness and unworthiness; “I do not deserve to see His face” (… and so I cannot go!). One by one, many more birds make their excuses – and decline.

All this, before the journey even begins.

During the journey itself, those who finally set out – the hundred thousand – voice their fears, their doubts, their hesitation. Many give up at various points of the journey, some early on, some much later. For each one, the Hoopoe has a string of stories. Reading or listening to these stories unfold, the realization is strengthened – the birds are really us, who claim to be Seekers, but find our various reasons and excuses to drop out along the way.

Surprisingly, it is more than half-way through the book that a bird asks how long the journey actually is, and the Hoopoe describes the seven {italic}Wadis {/italic}, meaning settlements, abodes, often translated as ‘valleys’, beginning with the Wadi of the Quest, going on to the Wadis of Love, of Insight into Mystery, of Fulfillment, then Desirelessness, followed surprisingly by that of Bewilderment, till at last you reach Annihilation or Absorption.

Though I have read commentaries describe this as the ultimate stopping place, Attar adds two further lines, which gives me the same sense of listening to the part of the other story, where Christian and Ignorance wait to be allowed in – or not. Attar says of the seventh station, “And there you are suspended, motionless, till you are drawn in, the impulse is not yours …”

The entire beautiful work is about individual effort as well as what we can call ‘Grace’, both being necessary for spiritual progress.

Coming back to our birds, though “a world of birds set out”, after years of difficult traveling, there remain just thirty at the end, “thirty exhausted, wretched, broken things.”

They linger, at times hopeful, at times hopeless, as time passes, till finally a herald arrives. Discouraging at first, he urges them to fly back, but their passion and persistence are so strong, he unlocks the guarded door to the innermost Light of Light and gives them a page, which, when read would make known the concealed meaning of their journey.

The “fateful page” reveals to them the powerful, disturbing truth that it was them – it is us- that has made every decision and action undertaken throughout history; they are –we are – therefore, responsible for each of them.

And then, for the thirty who remain:
“There in the Simorgh’s radiant face they saw themselves.
They were the Simorgh and the journey’s end.
They see the Simorgh – at themselves they stare …”

This significant moment is so potent in the Persian language, as si is the word for ‘thirty’, and morgh is bird(s). The si morgh see the Simorgh.

It does seem like the narrative is hurtling to a sense of identification of Creator and creation. After all, Attar did admire the mystic al-Hallaj, who shockingly declared, “An al haq.,” which translates “I am the Truth,” even “I am God.” But Attar draws back from this radical stance. His birds puzzle: “How is it true that ‘we’ is not distinguished here from ‘you’? They hear: “I am a mirror set before your eyes. And all who come to my splendor see themselves, their own, unique reality.” And, “It is yourselves you see and what you are. Who sees the Lord? It is himself each sees.”

The last two lines in the translation of Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis have Attar send us out on our own journeying with: “I have described the way. Now you must act. There is no more to say.”

May your journeying be full of adventure and meaning.
Marguerite Theophil

This invitation to wonder is contained within the stories of all cultures.
These are not just quaint tales of old
but maps of the journey of the soul into connection with the creative source of life.
These stories are intended to spark the imagination
and kindle the fire that needs no wood.
~ Tony Cuckson

Becoming real

Dusting my bookshelves is the job that takes me an incredibly long time and has less to do with the number of books, and more to do with the fact that many books just beg to be dipped into right then.

Today the book that has me fascinated all over again is an old copy with yellowing pages that I am afraid are going to turn crumbly very soon - Carlo Collodi’s “The Adventures of Pincchio”.

I think, as I read the slightly ponderous language of the original, of how I watched the film Pinocchio, with the madly energized Roberto Benigni some weeks ago with a young friend. “It’s so different from the one we have on DVD,” she grumbled, referring to the made-nice Disney version, as we walked out of the darkness of the theatre.

I feel a bit guilty for wanting her see the version that is somewhat closer to the original, and that has darker patches, much like life.

As far back as in 1881, Carlo Lorenzini, a then well-known children’s writer, began to serialize in a magazine for children La Storia di un burattine, The Story of a Puppet, under the name C. Collodi. Later it came out as a book in 1883 and has been translated into eighty-seven languages. I read that there have been around four hundred television versions, and even many doctoral dissertations on the wooden puppet.

In Florence, walking through a magical, almost other-worldly street lined with shops selling puppets, the shopkeepers will tell you that among the most popular with buyers is the Pinocchio puppet. Wide-eyed, long-nosed, with a fixed bemused smile that seems to suggest he is not too sure of his much publicized desire to become a ‘real boy’, he also seems to ask: “Take me with you,” and many do. Over a hundred years after he was ‘created’, Pinocchio’s dream of being needed, of belonging, of being ‘real’, comes true - again and again.

I have often wondered how this old story has caught and held our attention over all this time. Maybe it has to do with the fact that wooden body or not, this is in large part the story of all of us.

Let’s go to the start of the story: if it is the Disney version which most of us are familiar with, the story begins with a lonely carpenter Geppetto, desperately wanting a child and carving out a wooden puppet-child for himself. The book itself starts out somewhat differently with the carpenter discovering a block of wood in his workshop that talked, laughed and cried like a child, shifting it as one commentator said “ … from a Disney fantasy of the human creation of life, to the everyday miracle that is represented by human development.”

Margaret Blount, an authority on children’s literature, writing of this story indicates that Pinocchio “… falls from grace with the monotonous regularity of most humans…” and how the implicit allegory is that it takes a long, long time to really ‘grow up’.

To become truly human, his lessons include learning to hear the voice of conscience – in the story this voice is that of the character ‘Cricket’ - and to learn to appreciate the joys of giving more than the thrill of constantly receiving.

It does not take too much intellectual analysis to identify that these are our lessons too.

Staring out as a self-centered brat, along his journey Pinocchio creates the situations that eventually cause him to lean Life’s lessons. Most of all he learns – through a nose that grows and grows when he tells a lie – about both, the power of lying, as well as its pain and consequences. The environment filled with all kinds of interesting characters – some drawn as good bad, some as bad, some as hard-to-tell-which-kind - acts on him as much as he acts on the environment, and the exchange slowly provides him with the cues to becoming truly human.

Inspite of sounding painfully preachy, specially to readers today, the Fairy with the Blue Hair plays a very special role. Mostly she teaches Pinocchio about love in its many forms, but it is the way she turns up in his life – actually her changing aspects and what they mean – that is a key creative device of this story.

The wooden one first meets Fairy when Assassins are pursuing him. He sees a house in the distance, runs to it and knocks wildly in fear. A window opens and he sees Fairy first as a Beautiful Child, somewhat unreal, with blue hair and a face as white as a waxen image. At this stage, she shuts the window and the assassins capture him. Her role is not that of rescuer here; she lets him go into this part of his learning, lets him handle it himself.

There are parts of the book a movie can never go to, as the scene that pokes fun at the medical profession, where the Fairy arranges for “the three most famous doctors in the neighborhood” – a Crow, an Owl and a Talking Cricket. If you find a copy of the book, the chapter entitled (and no, I do not make this up!) “The Lovely Blue-Haired Child Saves the Marionette; she Puts him in Bed and Calls Three Doctors to See whether he is Alive or Dead,” is a must-read.

All through the story the image of Fairy changes with each reappearance – even turning up once as a “fine goat with blue hair”. She later takes on a more maternal role, and acts particularly tough when it comes to his lying. Though she seems to forgive all, she still has to get him to learn that being loved is only one part of loving.

About the idea of “change” in the story – Pinocchio wonders why Fairy changes so much, from encounter to encounter as it were, but he never changes. Fairy tells him that it is only people who grow; marionettes, or puppets never grow, they are born as puppets, live as puppets, die as puppets.

But in one particularly poignant moment later in the story, the puppet recognizes Fairy in spite of her very unfamiliar appearance. When she wants to know how, he says, “It was my great affection for you that told me.” Pinocchio too is changing, as we begin to see.

It is, in the story, Pinocchio’s acquisition of ‘good heart’ that brings about his transformation. Pinocchio continues to do good and bad, because he becomes human, not a saint, but his newly developed capacities for love and empathy, and above all, hope, is what makes him finally real.

May we all find ways to become 'truly human'.

Marguerite Theophil

Uniqueness and commonality
Stories simultaneously celebrate what is unique about us

and provide bridges to what is common among us.

~ Lucinda Flodin & Dennis Frederick

Behind the fearsome mask

Baba Yaga is a character who appears in hundreds of Russian and Eastern European stories and fairy tales. Her image is an over-the-top scary one; an old woman, she is described as having a nose that hooks downward, a chin that curves upward, long greasy hair, iron teeth sharp brown fingernails, ridged and long. Known as 'old bony legs', Baba Yaga has a short temper, and a large appetite - specially for devouring children.

To further heighten the scary picture, we are told she lives in a clearing in a birch forest, in a place that is difficult to find, unless a magic thread, feather or doll shows the way. Her hut spins around on bright yellow chicken legs. Its bolts and shutters are made of human bones. There is a fence around it made of human skulls. She travels from place to place in a huge mortar and pestle, using a broom to erase the marks of where she has been. Wherever she appears, a wild wind begins to blow, the trees groan and leaves whirl through the air.

Given all this, it may seem strange that anyone would look for Baba Yaga or enter her hut. However, they do so knowing that she is wise - all knowing, all seeing - and tells the whole truth to those who are brave enough to ask. So the stories contain not only the fearsome descriptions – they include ways to approach this power and to get something valuable out of the encounter.

In many ancient societies, older women were seen as the keepers of wisdom and tradition for the family or tribe. No longer having to care for children, they became mother figures to the rest of the community. The older women were the keepers of the wisdom and tradition in the family, clan, tribe, and community. They were also the keepers of relationships, whether among people or with all of nature. They were healers and looked after the dying, and so were considered to have a deep understanding of the two great mysteries, birth and death. In fact, sometimes they were thought to have the power of life and death itself. To approach them was to find answers that are not ordinarily available to most people.

When we follow the various stories associated with Baba Yaga, we find she is more than just an ugly old witch, for she has power, making her worthy of not just fear, but of respect. The stories show how she offers wisdom and guidance to those who are brave enough to seek her and clever enough not to offend her.

The importance of Baba Yaga is reflected in her dominion over time. This is shown symbolically in the three horsemen, who are often talked of as her “faithful servants” -the White Horseman, the Red Horseman and the Black Horseman, who control daybreak, sunrise, and nightfall.

Baba Yaga guards the "Waters of Life and Death." Sometimes the "Water of Death" is indeed used for killing "by stopping the breath or freezing the lifeblood of whoever drinks it," but more often it is part of a healing process. In many Slavic folktales, "the first, the 'water of death,' heals the wounds of a corpse or knots together a body that has been chopped up. The second, the 'Water of Life,' restores life" In either case, it is often the wise old Baba Yaga or her serpent who looks after these all important waters.

Baba Yaga is depicted as a nature spirit and the guardian of the forest, as well as the protector of the fountain of the Waters of Life and Death. She doles out advice to those who are worthy and offers magic and gifts to the pure of heart, and punishes others who are mean-minded or arrogant. In another light, Baba Yaga represents the death of ego. She is the bringer of wisdom and death, as she personifies time and aging, as well as the wisdom that accompanies them.

The Czechs know her as Jazi Baba, and in Poland she is referred to as Ienzababa or Jezda. In addition to her official name, she is also referred to as the Guardian of the Underworld, the Mistress of the Forest, the Goddess of Death and Regeneration, the Wolf-Goddess, the Bone Mother, the Mistress of the Animals, and the Guardian of the Water of Life and Death. These powerful descriptions demonstrate the depth of this ancient figure, who is far more than the simplistic and wicked character she was assigned at the time when Christianity entered the region.

As terrifying as it may be to face Baba Yaga, to survive is to be forever transformed. She would much rather kill our ignorance than ourselves by forcing us to examine ourselves, and thereby finding our own hidden resources.

Inspite of Baba Yaga’s ruthlessness, stories about her also show how she keeps her word once it is given. In some stories, she has a helpful side and in at least one, it is shown that she can be lonely and in need of love and company. She expects respect, and gives grudging respect to people who respect her and are willing to stand up to her and carry out her tasks.

She is also a keeper of fire, which is the goal of many a quest to Baba Yaga’s forbidding presence. Characters who make the frightening journey are often portrayed as ones who have lost their own spark of individual creative fire. Heroines, who need to light the darkness for themselves and others, who need to feel the fire of creative passion, go to the deep forest dwelling of Baba Yaga, the keeper of the creative fire, to beg for fire for their hearths.She does not part with this fire so easily; she demands to know why she should give some fire from her fire stick to those who have been so careless with the precious flame. She will not give you the flame until you have worked for her and perhaps completed seven seemingly impossible labours.

Restoration, renewal, nourishment, and enlightenment can all be found by surviving a journey to Baba Yaga's underworld. To safely enter Baba Yaga's domain, according to Marion Woodman, "There are laws of civility in dealing with these sacred energies.” The seeker must have the courage to venture to place that scare her or him, to hold on to intuition and heart-connection, to ask for what one desires, to go through the tasks set before one. An important thing to remember to ensure survival is to approach Baba Yaga with great humility, knowing that while we do not have the answers, she does.

I have often been asked if the frightening images found in many stories is ‘harmful’ for children, and if they might encourage children to violent behavior. I can understand the fears that parents often might have in this connection, but it’s important to explore other aspects of the impact of such stories on young people. These stories also provide us with those aspects that we ‘adults’ often overlook, but which children often wisely relate to!

In The Uses Of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim throws some light on this: "The fairy tale hero has a body which can perform miraculous deeds. By identifying with him, any child can compensate in fantasy and through identification for all the inadequacies, real or imagined, of his own body. He can fantasize that he too, like the hero, can climb into the sky, defeat giants, change his appearance, become the most powerful or the most beautiful person- in short have his body be and do all the child could possibly wish for. After his most grandiose fantasies have been satisfied he can be more at peace with his body as it is in reality. "

This is one of the reasons why the scary characters in folk stories have been made so vivid. If, by identifying with a hero or heroine in a folktale, you can vicariously experience facing and triumphing over an overwhelmingly scary foe, then facing your own real life challenges seems a lot easier and do-able.

May you learn to delve deeper into the stories you read or hear.
Marguerite Theophil

Cutting doors in blank walls
Stories set the inner life into motion,
and this is particularly important where
the inner life is frightened, wedged, or cornered.
Story greases the hoists and pulleys,
it causes adrenaline to surge,
shows us the way out, down, or up, and for our trouble,

cuts for us fine wide doors in previously blank walls…
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes