El Duende: a story

“El Duende is the wind that blows soul into the faces of listeners. It is the spirit that moves all things creative and artistic at the center of the psyche. It is the creative fire, the creative process, the creative center of all things, the creative function as a mystical substance. It is a way of living; it is following all the shapes and curves of the lay of the land of your psyche; it is behind the instinctual self; it is the breath of self, the oxygenating system that supports creative life.”

-from The Creative Fire by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.

She floated down into the aura of a silver, copper and golden planet and into the Land of Quibell. Creatures and all living things, as organic patterns of energy in motion, were “Master Dancers” in this holographic, musical world of reflective hearts and minds. Human voices would sing as they spoke with an echo at times to Remind, to Reflect, on our INTENTION. The keys of the bells gave this land its name, and its Gnostic knowing, for in the center of the village was the tower of Good Intention.

Housing every sacred artistic symbol of life ever imagined, the tower turned with time, again to Remind, according to the seasons and cycles. At certain times of celebration the bells of a giant organ would ring out in praise of the different colors, shapes, textures, and sounds of all changing faces of divine creation. Even the rocks would glow in auburn warmth during the carillon concerts. And then, the rocks would cool down with the rising moon and rest for the night, or for a long winter of white.

TIME PASSES

On a cold cobalt blue Night, billions of sparkling stars begin to fall. As they fell, the silver twinkling stars turned to thirty different shades of white snow. As it snowed and snowed, she was swept away to a far away place of the Middle, Flat and Grey where there were few textures and colors, no singing or dancing, and many harsh rules and distinctions. But most disturbing of all: there was no tower in this new state of being lacking in spirit. She felt a deep dark grieving. “How could this be?” she asked. And there were no bells of joy.

“How could they live?” she wondered.

She could not find the center of this very strange place, and at midnight, every night, there was a wailing motherly cry: “Daughter, where are you?” in this Land of the Middle without a Center.

Once upon a Noon Time not too long ago, she decided to leave the Land of the Flat and Grey. And so, following the golden light of the sun, she walked and walked, until she was so tired that she fell asleep at the entrance of a deep, dark, teal blue and lichen green forest, ground covered with purple, orange, pink, and raspberry colored leaves. She lay on the leaves and fell into a deep sleep.

A dream began to empower her, and while sleeping she spoke aloud in the star-filled night:

“There’s a wolf at my window. ‘Come closer,’ he whispers, his warm breath floats on the cool air…I feel his words on my shoulder like a silent movie in the night. Suddenly he tilts his fiery head back and cries the rapids of the heart, earth wild as a horse with wings he sings to me: ‘come closer.’ Some say it’s the wind in the woods…I think not…for I know the knowing of those piercing passion spheres of the soul, glistening like windows in the dark. There’s wolf at my window.”

Waking up before the dawn of Christmas Day, she felt fresh Wolf energy, an energy that drew her further into the darkness of the forest. As she walked, she saw in the distance small flickering lights forming a sparkling path she knew she must follow. As she drew closer, she could see that the lights were actually candles placed within small paper sandbags. She then began to hear bells in the distant future. The path of illumination and the angelic bell sounds led her spirit to an astonishing sight.

A tall, white feather-headed Antler Man, dressed like Saint Francis, and a shape-shifting Tree-Bird Woman gathered around a very unusual small girl child with pale, green lichen hair. They referred to her as “Christa.” The tiny girl began talking about “that other place,” where she was born and was orphaned. A place that did not want female children, especially green-haired ones.

The Antler Man and the Tree-Bird Woman placed a crown of roses and crystals on her head, and attached an amber jewel to the middle of her forehead. They assured her of safety and love now, and that Divine Nature creates differences so that we might celebrate the limitless infinity of meaningful beauty and truth. They tenderly touched her peculiar green hair, and saw that it was glowing with unusual truth and an odd beauty.

Four women: a maiden, a mother, a priestess, and a crone, cloaked in long royal robes, addressed the small girl child saying: “you have a divine right to be here on this earth-plane. Never forget this. We bless you with rainwater, candle fire, a clay flute, and a bouquet of Eucalyptus, Lavender, Rosemary and Thyme. And in the distance, the sound of bells rang out a Silent Dawn, a Holy Dawn, and it was said that El Duende was restored.