Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time…

there was a little girl, a little fairy girl.

She loved to play dress up and rearrange her bedroom, and she would spend days building elaborate environments in which she could play. Sometimes she was a schoolteacher, or an actress and director, sometimes a restaurant owner, or party hostess, or beautician, most often some kind of artist or renowned scriptwriter. On summer days, you could find her as a Forget-Me-Not Fairy, serving tea to animals under her backyard apple tree. Each limb dripping with bright colored fabrics, ribbons, and bells. A sanctioned circle surrounded by beautifully tall, un-mown grass. And, there was always some kind of performance during teatime.

Her vagabond mother grew to expect regular productions on the Fairy Stage, and new art pieces in the Gallery Closet. She never missed a show. In fact, she would encourage more, saying things like "Go ahead and paint on the walls!" or "Cut up your summer dress for a costume? Ok!" It was with this kind of freedom that the fairy girl grew confident about her ideas. Her mind expanded and her dreams opened. She was rarely afraid, and extremely dedicated. Taking risks seemed a natural part of finding out.

Along side this bravery, the fairy girl carried a certain gifted nurturing that kept her heart in balance. Caring for her younger sister was a pre-requisite in her home. And although most of the time this sibling care did not come in the form of hugs and kisses, and instead in bewitching obligatory roles for upcoming productions, she meant well. She watched out. She stood up. She kept track. She was always there.

As the girl grew so did her imagination, and with that growth came the realization that making dreams come true is as easy as you choose. She imagined performing lead roles on her High School stage, and she did. She imagined becoming a photo and commercial model, and she did. She imagined transforming heads of hair into works of art, and she did… no amount of impossible could stop her. In fact, it actually helped. She kept thinking.

She thought about moving to the big city and starting a family, and she did. She daydreamed of having babies galore, and out they came. She even dream-wished for a girl, after 4 boys, and got one! As this fairy transformed from girl to woman she also transformed the time and space around her. With each vision came an existing, and with each existing came a true meaning.

This childhood freedom, and natural enchantment, followed her wherever she went, even into parenthood. It would sneak in on the moonlight and lay across the bed, invisible to most, as enchantment often is. Or, jump out as she exclaimed to her own children "Blue hair in second grade? Sure! No one should tell anyone how he or she should or shouldn't look. It’s your head!" and "Want to help me paint the kitchen table and chairs? We can each have a chair, and a section of the table to paint however we want."

Never once, in her adventuring through life, did she lose track of this creativity or drive. It was part of her her, (at times prompting her to examine her life for possible faults or overlooked negativity). How is it that I keep going along singing my song, making things up, and being happy? But each time she questioned her passion it just stood there not budging, clearly unstoppable. She saw it in each carefully placed vase of colored glass in the window, in the black-brown of her sons eyes, the careful curve of her lower case y, and her undying real need to dream, create, and believe…

It is here that the story breathes easy, comfortably… in this ability to believe in dream worlds, knowing they exist if you choose to imagine them. Why stop? Why choose the end of magic and childhood make-believe? Why not believe in real fairies? Why not keep dreaming…keep creating…and help bring out the dreams of every imagination?

One peach pink morning she opened her eyes and saw something so beautiful and unique she about tipped over. Right there in front of her was one of her most grand imaginings of all…a real Fairy Theater, complete with branchy stage, singing pixies, and curious creatures. She hustled through a sketch, tangled in over-grown possibilities. It was clear an unstoppable idea was taking shape. She drove around in the car for weeks searching for the perfect place. She pined for painting walls and making costumes. She collected glitter and little odd scraps of the fantastic. This magical place was out there, and she would find it. She was calling it, or it was calling her.

The name crept in on an illuminated whisper.

The space appeared with the drop of the first fall leaves.

The fairies gathered.

And the theater transpired.

The Moonpaper Tent: a non-biased, mystical haven for creative exploration and actualizing dreams. A place where magic is alive and dream worlds exist….

2 comments:

  1. Dear Sylvanfairy,

    I wonder if you live in the Moonpaper lantern?
    I'm curious how fairies can use the computer. Are you the fairy that takes care of Sylvan and watches over her while the morning sun sparkles over the dewdrop lake ponds, that fairies skate on throughout the winter? I wonder if you're writing this story about Sylvan. Do you wonder why? Cause I think this story is about Sylvan and how she grew up. I know Sylvan because she gave me the courage to open my own imagination and create my own fairy names and stories. She taught me a class and I also feel like there's magic spells cast over me throughout the day in Moonpaper Tent. And just like the name of Moonpaper Tent, moonlight drifts in through MY window when I get home from my classes there. Sometimes I daydream while I'm eating lunch about the wonderful, magical fairy travelling times that we've had throughout the world.

    I feel like you because I have a poetic imagination just like you that carries me away on the wind. I feel like that because my imagination is a sparkle of light that flashes to the stars, and the moon, and the sun and creates the first unicorn in the world.

    Thank you Sylvanfairy, for writing this beautiful code.

    Love,
    Dewsparkle (I'm 4 and 2/3!)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lovely! I'm always delighted to know the back-story of a place, idea, artist.

    ReplyDelete