My ‘fairy story’ is Little Red Riding Hood. There are others with the same twist but it’s the fox representing himself as an old woman and thereby deceiving Red Riding Hood which makes it ‘mine’. It’s the old scary theme of something appearing to be one thing when in fact it is quite another. If there is anything in life that is going to disturb me, it’s that.
Story is so closely related to our lives, how we respond to life, perhaps even how we shape our lives. Who knows? I grew up with a story teller pare excellence, my mother. She told tales of adventures; hers. Tales of stepping out of the Victorian box she was born into; living in a tent in Devon in the 1920’s, driving a Double Decker bus and owning several motorbikes, showing movies without benefit of electricity cranked by hand! Growing up, all I needed to do was join her story line, which is what I basically have done! The twist at the end, becoming a religious, is perhaps the modern day ending to a life of external adventure. My mother was behind me although, in later life, she would have wished me to be behind her too, in a certain kind of a way. Very close to her death the story line was broken, her story dissolved and with that the tie between us. It came as an unanticipated twist at the end of our story together. How I know about that, is another story!
One part of the story of the historical Buddha that I love is the fact that he starts out as a handsome prince. That is, his life as it has been remembered and passed down begins as a storybook life. “Once there was a handsome prince who lived in a beautiful palace and had everything one could wish for …”