The Tale of Gwyn and the Pips - Part 1
/The Tale of Gwyn and the Pips*
This Fairy Tale, though not considered part of a canon as of yet, has aspirations for great things and expects to confound all expectations. Much like our heroine.
Once upon a time there was a princess who grew up in a beautiful land of marble and gardens. She was told she was smart and beautiful and accomplished. She was told to be a good friend, to keep her elbows off the table, and to clean up her own mess. Her education was beyond compare. Our princess was exposed to language, arts, music, travel, and food in addition to her formal education which taught her discipline, curiosity, and the joys of intellectual investigation and creativity. And math.
Our princess, Gwyn, would often dream of flying. The dreams would always begin with her standing outside the gate of the palace gardens with their flowers and paths. She would feel a sense of expansion, possibility, lightness, and then WHOOSH up she would go.
She did not grow wings. Flying came from a spark in her being - perhaps near to her heart - perhaps near to her belly. Her spark seemed to be from everywhere and nowhere. Inside her and outside her. In her fingers, past her toes, inside her bellybutton, past the soft charcoal folds beneath her skin, inside her nooks and crannies. Contained by her and containing her completely. Part of her and yet more. Capable of flight. Her spark sang to her while she flew.
Never too high. She would hover over the town of gleaming white stone and verdant flora. Skimming the top of the trees to visit beloved places and people. Flying felt to her like all possibilities in the world were open to her. Flying felt free and joyous and glorious. Flying felt like she was so full of light and love that it was natural to overflow. Flying felt like she was shining herself all over her world and her world was shining back.
She would awaken feeling enervated, full, beloved. Her spark sang to her in her memories.
One day the dreams slowed.
She missed them and asked them to return.
They didn’t return.
Gwyn began to forget to ask.
Soon, Gwyn forgot about her dreams.
Gwyn forgot about her spark.
Gwyn forgot about flying in her dreams.
Gwyn forgot about what it felt like to shine on her world. As herself. Without fear. To shine and be shone upon.
To fly without fear of falling.
She forgot.
Our beautiful princess was doing other things. She went out into the world beyond her parent’s palace. She navigated wild seas. She traversed deserts. She met strange creatures. She bathed in waterfalls. She kissed toes. She explored. She had adventures.
A magical life for a princess. Yes.
And yet, at times in the middle of a beautiful feast or a dulcet tone or a stunning fireworks display Gwyn would be floored by despair. A feeling of apartness. A feeling of not enoughness. A feeling that she was breaking rules. A feeling that she was wrong. That she was a problem. That she was not special. That she didn’t belong. That she was not supposed to be part of the magnificent party.
“Gosh darn it. This doesn’t feel good. What can I do about it?”
She looked around her cream colored satin walled room and made an appointment with an elder.
“You have something settled in your heart. Exercise more.”
Gwyn knew how to exercise. All princesses learn how to wear spandex and do lunges.
“Walking feels good.”
So she walked when the feeling came. She ran. She sweat. She did lunges. She wore spandex.
Gwyn also loved to sing.
Soon she realized that she could sing to herself while she walked and nobody would notice. If she did it quietly. And at night.
She would sing to keep herself company, to remember the songs she sang in school, to feel her lungs and her body.
One night she sang after a rainfall. The puddles on the path reflected for her the orange glow of the street lamps. Soon she walked into a clearing and the light reflecting back to her shifted. To a white glow. Princess Gwyn paused in her singing. She looked up. She saw the moon. “Why not, I’ll sing to the moon, it is full and beautiful. No one is around to tease me.”
Gwyn stood in the park and she sang to the moon.
Gwyn heard the moon singing back.
Gwyn stopped singing.
The Moon stopped too.
Gwyn sang again.
The Moon warbled a jig to harmonize with her song.
Gwyn was shocked. “Is that the moon singing to me?”
The Moon gazed down, “Princess, why don’t you find out?”
Gwyn was a bit taken aback by the Moon’s preemptory tone and casual disregard for forgetting the rules. Gwyn was a princess. Princesses were given protocols to follow and following said protocols resulted in rewards - like fancy dresses or caviar. Protocols were usually very clearly delineated and spelled out. The rules of Gwyn’s world were evident everywhere and the paths were well traveled.
The Moon was telling Gwyn to go off the path. To leave the world of rules and to investigate the unknown.
Gwyn was not sure she was up for this.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She decided that princesses are born to be challenged and, besides, she was curious.
To find out herself whether the Moon was singing. Where would she even begin?
She started with what she knew. She navigated wild seas. She traversed deserts. She met strange creatures. She bathed in waterfalls. She kissed toes. She explored. She had adventures.
But this time she was listening.
[end of the first part]
…. to be continued.
*pip, noun (3). 1: a small fruit seed. especially : one of a several-seeded fleshy fruit 2: one extraordinary of its kind
