Fairy Godmothers of The Four Directions

by Jennifer Morse

  Watching the Fairy Godmother’s irritation escalate Cinderella’s heart pounded. Irritation was the first sign her stepmother exhibited before becoming dangerous. How often was she dangerous? Yelling was not dangerous. Hitting Cinderella with the broom was humiliating but not dangerous. Throwing china at the wall was destructive but did not endanger Cinderella. Looking back the tantrums seemed almost silly, at the time they were terrorizing.

  On the other hand, the facts were becoming clearer since the Prince rescued her. The witch had poisoned both her parents. When Cinderella looked up, the Fairy Godmother was watching her closely.

  She stammered, “No…no. When I imagined myself with the Prince I was not guessing. I felt myself in his arms. We were spinning around the room. Moon light streamed in from the windows. I felt safe for the first time since my parent’s death. It was perfection.”

  “So guessing is not part of imagination, dreaming or perfection.” For emphasis the Fairy Godmother pounded the ground, with an ebony stick. Cinderella sat on the edge of a dreaming stone. The Fairy Godmother continued. “Imagination, dreaming, perfection these are tools of the West.”

  Cinderella was at a loss. She echoed the Fairy Godmother, “Imagination, dreaming, perfection are the tools of the West.”

  Suddenly, fiercely, she longed to run away. She imagined, hurrying past pine trees while twilight expanded, the cool evening brushing against her skin. More than anything she wanted to be back at the palace. Originally a playground for her adventures with the Prince the castle was now her refuge. Gripped by panic her feet knew the way back. Didn’t they? Feeling her way around the perimeter of the cave, carefully she edged her way toward the exit.

  Alerted, Blackie stood to watch her. Should she whistle for him to follow or wait until she was in the trees? Her heart hammered. Adrenalin inflated her muscles. Escape was one step away. Thighs bunched and gripping prepared for movement. Yet she could not force her feet to cross the threshold.

  When the Prince asked her to study with the Fairy Godmothers she had begged, “Can’t they come here and teach me? Like a tutor,” she pleaded.

  Pushing the hair away from her eyes he had said, “Charlotte, there are so many dangers in stewardship of the Kingdom.” He paused, “It’s not just assassination attempts. As Princess and Queen you have to know how to balance justice. You have to hone your intuition and recognize infinite variations of truth. In the North the Fairy Godmother will build strength and wisdom.”

  The Prince pulled his hair. A familiar gesture from their childhood, it stood straight in the air. Cinderella grimaced. She said, “I understand. I have to deal with my past to be a good mother. What are the skills of running a palace? How do I support you?”

  Pulling her close, whispering in her ear, he said, “I think you’ve got that part.”

  Was it just this morning Cinderella had said goodbye to him? Yesterday leaving the palace they rode horses following the mountain streams until they came to the Fairy Godmother’s cabin.

  Cinderella had been so nervous she hadn’t noticed the wild flowers blooming alongside the trail. The periwinkle sky was ignored by both. Engrossed in the anticipation of their separation they were grieving and exhausted by the end of the day.

  They spent a quiet evening with the Fairy Godmother. After a quick meal, shooed along by the Fairy Godmother, they followed Blackie’s example, drifting, anxious and already lonely, into the Fairy Godmother’s guest rooms. Numb, Cinderella fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Just this morning, but a world away, they stood on the porch of the Fairy Godmother’s house holding hands. The Fairy Godmother’s cottage facing west had a long view of meadow. A stream lined with Cat of Nine Tails sinuously made its way into a pond. The Prince pointed out an abandoned beaver lodge. Then they were standing on the porch, the weight of their impending separation enormous. Cinderella couldn’t breathe.

  He was part stranger to her now. “Is that why I didn’t promise to love him forever? Am I broken and unable to share my heart?” In the cave, remembering, she felt bereft.

  This morning, only a few hours ago, when he pulled her close, enfolding her in his arms she listened to the steady beat of his heart. She felt his deep inhale. Dragging apart she heard herself hiccup. Treacherously close to a sob. Standing at the mouth of the cave she felt the same sob rising to the surface.

  What had he said? His last words weren’t about love. He gave her instructions. Instructions! Finding a throne? Wisdom at the center of the Four Directions? She had no reference to understand. But she knew with her heart and soul, in the authenticity of her threatening tears, he gave her clues to find her way back to him. To find her way back to love.

  On an exhale he was gone clattering down the stone steps. He left her on the ledge of the cottage porch. Standing alone, she was one half of a whole.

  She found the Fairy Godmother in the distance waiting for her to follow. There were no words of consolation. But Cinderella had thought the night before she felt in their shared silence, compassion and understanding.

  They spent the morning and into mid-afternoon hiking past the stream, beyond the pond, toward the White Mountains. Cinderella did her best to catch up. Gripping limestone rock Cinderella remembered every stumble.

  Now the Fairy Godmother was at her side, turning her back into the cave. Eyes searching Cinderella’s face she said, “Grief is a formidable teacher. Grief muddled with deceit and betrayal shattered you. It transformed you from a girl into a slave.”

  With the tap on puckered lips for silence the Fairy Godmother continued, “Collect the broken pieces. Dream your totality and return to wholeness. I’m the Fairy Godmother of the West, the Keeper of the Sacred Dream.”

  Taking Cinderella’s elbow she guided her back to the fire. Following the Fairy Godmother deeper into the cave sliding her hand on the rough wall, fire light bounced off the reflective surface of the limestone cavern. Blackie sniffed her hands and feet. Reassured he settled in a blanket next to the west dreaming stone.

  The Fairy Godmother crouched next to Blackie. With a pang Cinderella noticed his muzzle was turning white with age. He snuffled the Fairy Godmother’s braids. She sighed. Blackie sighed. She rubbed his ears and scratched his chest. “You took good care of Cinderella.”

  When the Fairy Godmother stood, walking to the center of the cavern, Blackie followed. Cinderella stood motionless. Silence, a living presence, cloaked the room. Gesturing to the north end of the cave she said, “There are thousands of intersecting caves. Countless wanderers lost in their mysteries forever.”

  Cinderella shivered with dread.

  In the light cast by fire the Fairy Godmother perched on a flat boulder, covered in furs. She patted the stone next to her. “Come. Tell me of your grief.”

  Hearing the word “grief” Cinderella’s feet grew roots. She was immobilized. Standing in shadows felt familiar, safer. If she shuffled into the fire’s light she might fall apart.

  Shrugging, the Fairy Godmother turned away. She rummaged in the stone cache of stored food. Heating flat bread on a rock edging the fire pit, she said, “Many people try to live in the shadows. In life’s emergencies they are thrown into the fires of transformation.”

  The Fairy Godmother shook her head. “They spend their efforts trying to return to the shadows. You will not return to the shadows Cinderella.” Carefully blowing on her fingers she flipped the bread.

  “Life as you knew it was destroyed when your parents were murdered. You lived with a dangerous woman made monstrous with drinking, toxic with greed. You never knew what was real danger or a tantrum.”

  Cinderella’s throat closed. Blackouts: Her stepmother had blackouts. Sometimes while drinking she became sad and tearful. Other nights screaming threats, tearing the house apart, she threatened to kill Blackie. The worst times were her poisonous silences. The black looks. Cinderella learned most dangerous of all were her conniving periods of calm.

  When her stepmother couldn’t intimidate Cinderella
into revealing her family’s secrets of wealth and prestige, her rage knew no bounds. Over the years Cinderella learned ways to soothe the monster. Her natural sweetness was her greatest deterrent to her stepmother’s madness.

  Cautiously now Cinderella made her way to the fire. Blackie followed and settled with a sigh. Cinderella reached into her back pack. Taking a canteen of water, she poured a bowl for Blackie, and set out jerky. The Fairy Godmother flipped the soft bread onto a platter. “Do you know what causes gaps of memory when drinking Cinderella?”

  Handing her warm bread wrapped around cheese the Fairy Godmother glanced in her direction. The fleeting glance could not disguise intensity rolling off her in waves. She said, “Blackouts, or missing time, are a result of alcohol saturation. Too much alcohol shuts down parts of the brain.” She paused, “What is another name for alcohol?”

  Cinderella took a bite of warm bread and melted cheese. It was delicious. “Hmmm…..Spirits?”

  The Fairy Godmother smiled. Her features softened in firelight exuded femininity. She nodded, adding quietly, “Very good. Spirits…The word gives us clues to what people drinking excessively are seeking.”

  They sat together. The fire crackled. Blackie gave an enormous sigh and rolled to his side. Cinderella felt warm, fed and…. safe. Silence was a balm to her spirit. “What did you mean connecting spiritual hunger with drinking?”

  The Fairy Godmother continued, “Your stepmother was once a student of the Fairy Godmother of the South. Unwilling to face her personal history, she found a temporary freedom while drinking. The combination of drink and unresolved feelings twisted her strengths into someone who uses their power to manipulate.”

  Poking the fire with her ebony carved staff she continued, “We Fairy Godmothers teach power in service of beauty. You will study with a teacher in each direction to awaken your understanding of beauty specific to the cardinal points.

  “I am the Fairy Godmother of the West. I teach the ways of dreaming, introspection, imagination and transformation. Skills you desperately need if you are to survive and marry the Prince.”

  Cinderella shifted her weight restlessly. Her tone scrapped the tranquility, tinged with doubt. “I don’t mean to offend you but how can imagination or dreaming help me?”

  The Fairy Godmother’s eyebrows descended. Voiced edged with the blade of transformation, she hissed, “You of all people would ask that question Cinderella?”

  Gulping Cinderella’s muscles tightened. Fleeting fear coursed through her. Energizing her with a cascade of bio-chemistry, she was nonetheless rooted to the floor. While the cave pulsed with the Fairy Godmother’s power and a brilliant aura of light surrounded her dark skin.

  Filled with mysteries of dreaming she said, “I will tell you the science behind imagination. Are you ready to hear?”

  The flames leaped. Heat surged. Shadows lengthened on the limestone walls. Blackie rolled to his feet and barked. Cinderella lost her balance and fell backwards. Embarrassed and, though she wouldn’t admit it, frightened, she shot to her feet. Shouting, “You did that on purpose!”

  Poised, her light a kinetic silence surrounding her, the Fairy Godmother said, “In your brain are located the motor neurons. Do you understand that motor neurons fire to initiate actions? Without igniting motor neurons you do not move. Do you follow me?”

  Cinderella had never heard of motor neurons. But she would never admit her ignorance. She nodded, hoping she looked like an expert.

  “Your mirror neurons live next door to motor neurons. Mirror neurons are activated by your imagination, dreaming, even intuition. When the mirror neurons ignite they cause a ripple out effect to the motor neurons. In this way you are, literally and physically, preparing to live your goals by first dreaming them.

  “Isn’t that what you did Cinderella? Dreamed by the fire, lost in imagination while you gardened or even day-dreaming while hiking the mountains?”

  Cinderella laughed, “Yes! Yes, I am a dreamer.”

  Chapter Six

  The Sacred Zero

  In the firelight the Fairy Godmother’s profile was etched and severe. She added one log, than added another.

  Cinderella sat back with a sigh. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. “Apparently we are going to sit here all night.”

  Banging her staff on the edge of the rock where Cinderella sat, the Fairy Godmother said, “Dreaming and imagination are the cutting edge of innovation. They are the tools that inspire us to claw our dreams out of the ephemeral, chipping them into reality as a sculpture carves and shapes art. So you too shape your dreams.”

  The Fairy Godmother glared at Cinderella for emphasis.

  Cinderella sighed, again. “I’m sorry Fairy Godmother. Of course the tools of the West are important. It is as you say. I have lived the truth of your words.”

  Bowing her head she desperately wanted to avoid her grief. Not wanting to relive losses or remember that bleak time when bereavement choked the breath out of her body. Only to find in the next breath grief kept her excruciatingly alive.

  The Fairy Godmother used her staff to stir the fire. Flames shot up into the air. Cinderella felt the blast of warmth and against her will began to relax. Shadows danced along limestone walls. She said, “Last time you did that, I’m not going to lie, I was a little scared. Now the same behavior had a different effect.”

  Huffing disdainfully the Fairy Godmother said, “Has no one taught you intent? Intent colors behavior. There are wisdoms for you to catch-up. Part of your losses…” Her voice drifted off.

  Cinderella blushed. A fierce red rushed across her face and out to her ears. She hated to be confronted with gaps. The missing pieces of instructional life she would have experienced if her parents had not died.

  The Fairy Godmother repeated, “People insist on ignoring the fires of life. They cling to a life of shadows.” She shrugged, “A one dimensional existence. Superficiality disconnected from life’s deeper meanings.”

  Cinderella gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

  The Fairy Godmother continued relentlessly, “But you could not return to the shadows. Your parents passed from this life; throwing you into the transformative fires of grief.”

  Another lump thickened in Cinderella’s throat.

  “Shadows disconnected from love, disconnected from a deeper purpose, drove your stepmother with their relentless hungers. She starved sitting before a feast she could not enjoy.”

  Cinderella folded her knees, squeezing them into her chest and a tight ball. She dug her fingernails into the soft skin along the edges of her bicep. The tender surface yielding as hot tears leaked out her eyes.

  If the Fairy Godmother noticed Cinderella’s tears she ignored them. “You tried to be invisible. And you survived. But living on the edge of the fire and shadows is not safe for you anymore. You chose a Prince but you don’t have the skills to be a Princess or a Queen.”

  Despite compressing herself into the smallest body posture possible, Cinderella felt a vast emptiness open in her belly. She felt she was dropping, free-falling, into a void threatening to engulf her. Anxiety blossomed and she fought to keep her composure. What was happening to her? She dug her fingernails deeper.

  In the darkness of the cave beyond the shadows of the fire Cinderella thought she saw lights. They popped like miniature sparklers and then disappeared, pulled back into their own void. What did it mean? “Do I care?”

  Listless she watched the Fairy Godmother draw symbols in the crusty dirt floor. When she whacked her staff at the tip of Cinderella’s toes she was electrified. “Pay attention!” the Fairy Godmother shouted. “The way out of the void is a journey to the center. Surrender! Find your core of serenity. Watch.”

  Standing, using her cane as a pencil, the Fairy Godmother drew a circle. She drew a larger circle outside of the first circle. Outside the larger circle she labeled the four directions. Like a compass, the north she placed at the top. The south was marked at the bottom. With the edge of her s
taff she marked west on the left and east on the right.

  She said, “The center of the four directions is the place within you of everything and nothing. The center is the razor’s edge. Where remembering and forgetting meet. Finding center is the Zero in the scared math of selfhood. It’s your totality, your truth and wholeness. Your grief demands you find the Sacred Zero. It’s a harsh teacher. You must transform your grief into a center of wisdom and strength. If after awakening the Four Directions you cannot find center, the Sacred Zero, then you cannot marry the Prince. Without a center you cannot guide a country.”

  She pounded the dirt floor with the staff and glared at Cinderella. “Those who refuse the journey remain stunted at best or monstrous at worst. Perhaps you can recognize the path of your stepmother who refused the journey of the Zero. In your own reluctance you can feel hers. You can understand her choice.”

  Leaping to her feet Cinderella shouted, “I. Will. Never! ‘Understand.’ My. Stepmother!” The cave absorbed the intensity and volume, rendering her disputation flat.

  Watching Cinderella’s outrage, the Fairy Godmother sighed. She pointed to the outside of the largest circle. “Most people try and live in the shadows. Your stepmother made that choice. Tonight you are making the same choice.”

  She pointed her staff at Cinderella. “How will you live with the Prince? He lives within the Sacred Zero. You live in the shadows. What will become of your love? Will it flourish or wither?”

  Cinderella dropped to the floor. Leaning forward, trying to understand the drawing, she asked, “Is this a map?”

  The Fairy Godmother beamed. Cinderella felt her pleasure and blushed. A gentle pink coloring her checks with life, she asked, “What are the shadows?”

  Drawing small X’s around the outer circle the Fairy Godmother said, “The shadows are materialism disconnected from deeper meaning and purpose. People living in the shadows seek pleasures of life without purpose: superficiality for the sake of superficiality.”