The Mischief Maker

In a time when people are traumatised, shocked and particularly vulnerable, the mischief maker comes to the fore and sets about causing as much distress, confusion and fear as possible. They spread misinformation, create and inflate rumours and cause unrest. To what purpose? Their own enjoyment of of course. You can be sure that whenever there is a natural disaster, they will surface, like cockroaches scuttling out of a drainpipe. In the recent floods in Brisbane and the surrounding areas, warnings were consistently issued by the media to check the sources of information, particularly on social network sites, where rumours and misinformation abounded.

I was reminded of the Burmese folktale about the mischief-maker's tree, or the 'gon-bin' and I think it a most appropriate tale in light of understanding the power of the mischief maker. This is my retelling of this tale.

The Mischief Maker

Many centuries ago a raft carrying three people washed up onto the shore of the Burmese coast. They had all been banished from their country for the following reasons. One man was a thief who had stolen food, a woman was accused of witchcraft and another man a mischief maker who told lies about people.

When the King heard of the new arrivals he ordered hi ministers to give a thousand pieces of silver each to the thief and the witch and the mischief maker was to be executed immediately.

The King's courtiers were shocked and asked the king why he had decided thus. The King replied.

The thief stole because he was hungry and if he is given enough money to grow his own food, then he will have no need to ever steal again. The witch too is poor and was envious and unhappy. If she is given money she too will have enough to live on and be a good person. But the mischief maker will always be a mischief maker.

So the mischief maker was taken to a beach and beheaded. The next day one of the King's courtiers saw the head on the beach, its eyes and mouth wide open and it spoke.

'Tell your King to come and bow before me or I will knock his head off.'

The courtier was so shocked, he ran back and told the King. But the King did not believe him and accused him of making fun of him. The courtier convinced the King to send another courtier with him to witness the mischief maker's words. The King agreed to send another man, but when he appeared before the head, it said nothing. The courtier returned to the King and the King in anger, ordered the first courtier to be taken to the execution grounds and be dispatched for lying.

When the mischief maker saw that he had caused the death of another he laughed at the executioner and said.

'I may be dead but i can still cause trouble.'

The executioner reported what he had heard to the King, who was filled with remorse for what he had done.

He ordered that the only way to stop the mischief maker was to bury his head deep in the sand. the executioner did that, but the next morning a strange tree gre in the spot. It grew and grew and finally it produced a most unusual fruit. It was shaped like the mischief makers head, complete with two eyes and a mouth. The King took the fruit and shook it and to his surprise he heard a gurgling sound inside, as though the mischief maker's spirit was inside whispering his lies. 

The 'gon bin', which is now called 'ohn bin', in English is known as the coconut palm. 

Source: http://www.pitara.com/talespin/folktales/online.asp?story=69

Photograph by Roman W. Schatz

Visions and Illusions

My daughter related a tale of her friend having a series of visions. One such vision was of a character from a computer game she played, being present in the room with her. When her friend told her mother of these visions, the mother immediately began researching biblical interpretations of them! My daughter's response to her friend's confession, was to tell her that she was spending too much time playing games on the computer. 

I thought her pragmatic approach was possibly a more useful one for her friend to keep a handle on reality. It also challenged me think about what I see, how I perceive it, and who shares my vision. 

Late last week a tragedy took place in Australian waters when fifty Iraqi, Iranian and Kurdish people drowned. They were passengers on a small boat heading from Indonesia to Australia. Refugees. Could their deaths have been prevented? Ian Rintoul, founder of the Refugee Action Coalition, an Australian refugee advocacy group sees that the Australian government contributed to the deaths of these people in the following ways: Australia pressures Indonesia to detain asylum seekers, regardless of whether they are mandated refugees under the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). Seekers are held in detention centers sometimes funded by the Australian government. Until this year, Australia did not routinely resettle UNHCR refugees from Indonesia. This year, the Australian government said it will take 500 refugees from Indonesia, although, so far, fewer than 100 have been resettled, and the government has not guaranteed numbers for the future. It sometimes takes months for UNHCR to register asylum seekers and then more months for those claims to be processed. Once determined to be refugees, they can wait years for the UNHCR to find a country willing to resettle them. Understandably, other resettling countries consider asylum seekers in Indonesia to be Australia's responsibility. The lack of any guaranteed resettlement is another powerful incentive for asylum seekers to take the boat journey from Indonesia to Australia.If Australia were willing to process asylum seekers and guarantee resettlement, far fewer asylum seekers would want or need to take the boat journey. Yet Prime Minister Julia Gillard's Labor government takes proportionally fewer refugees than was the case under the conservative John Howard government. Third, the Australian government's move to criminalize people-smuggling (and by association asylum seekers themselves) in Indonesia and Australia also provides a powerful disincentive for asylum boats to contact Australian authorities should they require assistance.

http://edition.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/12/20/rintoul.island.tragedy/

But how do we see tragedies like this? Can we convince ourselves that it is awful but inevitable, or of no concern to us, because there's nothing we can do anyway? Do we look for a justification of our response, or lack of one, to what we see? Or do we simply interpret our experience to suit our beliefs?

Truth tellers and whistle blowers; those people who have had the veil of deception lifted from their eyes, are punished and, or ostracised. Witness the demise of the Wikileaks founder, Julian Assange. They can also suffer the curse of Cassandra, the Trojan princess, a visionary, but doomed never to be believed. 

Once you 'see', you cannot 'unsee', but you can choose whether to speak about what you see.

This brings me to a folktale of Celtic origin, that assumes the existence of parallel worlds; that of mortals and the mystic world of fairy folk. Just because you can't see them, does that mean that they're not there? I value this tale, not because I'm an exponent of the world of fairy, but because, like so many folktales, it offers a vision for us to understand our lives and the lives of others. It also serves to show both the power and vulnerability that comes with having 'the sight.'

Pali the midwife, was preparing supper when she heard a knock at the door and before stood one of the fairy folk, begging her to come quickly to the assistance of a fairy princess who had need of her presence to safely deliver her baby. 

Pali immediately took her bag and climbed onto the back of the horse the fairy man brought. Off they went at a gallop, and Pali felt as though the horse's hooves barely touched the ground as they rode into the night. Finally he stopped outside what appeared to be a grand palace. He led Pali through a torch lit hallway that opened into a chamber where the Fairy princess lay in childbed.

In due course the fairychild was born and the fairy princess bade Pali to rub the child with a special ointment, but to be wary of getting the ointment anywhere on her own self, except her hands. Over the next few days Pali looked after the mother and child. It was a strange place she had been brought to. She saw no-one but the princess and her baby and yet food appeared each day. One morning after she rubbed the newborn with the ointment, she felt her eye itch and without thinking, rubbed it. Some of the cream on her fingers went into it. From that time on, she saw the fairy folk. They came and went, chatting with the fairy princess and bringing her tasty morsels of food to eat. That evening Pali said to the fairy princess that she should sleep early today because she had so many visitors.

The fairy princess turned to her and flashed an angry look.

'So you disobeyed me and rubbed your eyes with the ointment,' she accused.

Pali was embarassed and nodded.

'Quit by accident, though,' she said apologetically.

'Then it is time for you to go,' said the fairy princess, and she deposited a purse filled with gold coins into her hand.

Pali was escorted by the fairy man back to her house. The following day she told the village people about her adventures and come market day, she was able to see the presence of the fairy folk trading amongst the stalls of the villagers. Often she would see the fairy folk going about their business, and she would let the villagers know if they were ever up to mischief. One day, while at the market, she saw a grand procession. There in the centre was the fairy princess herself. Pali ran up to greet her.

'How lovely to see you here,' said Pali.

'You have no right to be seeing me at all,' hissed the fairy princess, and spat in Pali's eye.

When Pali rubbed her eye, the fairy folk had vanished. And though she looked for them day and night, she was never able to see them again. 

Sources: Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx, by John Rhys  (1901) e-text at the Internet Sacred Text Archive

www.sacred-texts.com/ neu/ cfwm/ index.htm

Photo 'visions and illusions' Âİ Roman W. Schatz 2010

You will reap what you sow

What is a human being worth? Who is worthy and who determines worthiness?  Who is more worthy? Blackskin, Brownskin, Whiteskin, Oldskin, Newskin? Are all human beings worth saving?  Is some life more sacred than others? It is necessary to contemplate these questions to understand why the Western world has been so slow and parsimonious in its response with aid to the devastation of Pakistan by floods. Here is an opportunity to show the people of Pakistan that we really care about their plight, and that we will support them not only in their time of urgent need, but in the years to come. For we will reap what we sow. If we are to sow the seeds of democracy and freedom then we must begin with the action of humanity and respond swiftly and generously with aid. 

A Good Deed - A Pakistani Folktale retold by Morgan

There was once a young man whose time had come to journey from his village and collect the young woman he was betrothed to. He dressed himself in his finest clothes, mounted his horse and set off. He soon found himself in the midst of a jungle and it was there that he came upon a fight between a snake and a mongoose. He dismounted and watched the scene before him. The creatures were in fierce contention and he thought that if he could separate them, then it was possible that neither would be too badly hurt. However, every time he intervened the mongoose fought harder and looked to be overcoming the snake. Finding that his peace making efforts did not prevail, he drew his sword and with deep regret slayed the determined mongoose. He then continued on his journey, but not very far, before the snake had intercepted him. Thinking that the snake was going to thank him for saving its life, he was quite shocked when it announced that it was going to eat him. The young man protested, saying that he had just saved his life and for this good deed he was going to be killed.                                                    "Surely," he said, "one good turn deserves another. Where I come from this is what we believe."                                                            

  "Well in this country, the customs are different, and good deeds are returned with evil."                                                                        

The young man argued for a long time with the snake, but to no avail. In the end the snake agreed to the young man's request to go about his business and return to this spot in eight days, to be eaten. So he was allowed to continue his journey and after a week he and his new wife took their seats in the bullock cart and made their way back to the jungle. When they arrived at the appointed place where the snake lived, the bridegroom climbed down from the cart and announced his arrival.                                                                   "Snake, I have honoured my promise and present myself to be eaten."                                                                                              

 His wife was surprised by her husband's words, but climbed down from the cart and stood beside him. The snake slithered out of his hole and coiled himself around the young man's leg.                                                                                                                                  

  "Why do you wish to eat my husband?" she demanded.                                                                                                                              

 The snake told the story of how the man had saved his life and explained the custom of returning good with evil. The young bride was outraged and asked how such a custom came to be in the first place. The snake answered.                                                            

 "Go to the five talli trees that stand over there and you will find out why."                                                                                                  

The bride did as she was asked and addressed the trees. The first tree told her their story.    

You can see that there are five trees here, when once upon a time there were six. The sixth tree was the oldest of us and the trunk was hollow. One day a robber escaping from his pursuers came to our forest and seeing the cavity in the trunk, dived inside. He begged and pleaded to the tree to save him and the tree did, by closing the hole in the trunk, and there he passed the night in safety. The following morning the tree opened her trunk and released the man, so he made his escape to a nearby city. Wherever he went people remarked upon his scent. They could smell him, and a beautiful fragrance it was too. For the trunk of the tree contained sandalwood. One man went to the King and told him of the presence of a stranger who had brought a wonderful scent with him and that the king may wish to discover it. The king immediately summoned the thief and demanded to know where he got the fragrance from. The thief was anxious. The King said that he would not put him to death if he showed him the source of the scent. When the thief heard this, he told him his story and agreed to take the kings men to the tree. For in hiding inside the trunk, his clothes had been imbued with the fragrance and had never left him. The kings men set to work and chopped down the tree and carried it to the palace. Upon understanding what was happening the tree said,  "For saving the life of a man I am to lose my own life. From this time forth I decree that in this jungle whoever does good to another will be repaid in evil."          

Having heard the story, the young woman returned to her husband's side and sadly declared that she understood why the custom had come about. The snake smiled and advanced upon her husband with open mouth. The bride cried out in fear.                      

 "What about me? You will have to eat me first. I cannot live without my husband."    

When the snake heard these words he stopped.                                                                                                                                            

 "But you have not done me any good turns at all, so I cannot do evil to you."      

The snake was determined to solve the problem and crept back to his hole, and returned with two magic pills.                                        

"Here is your comfort for when your husband is eaten. Swallow these tablets and you will give birth to two sons who you can devote yourself to, and they in turn will care for you."                                                                                                                                             

The bride took the pills and once more the snake opened his mouth.

 "Wait," she said, "what about my honour. If I have two children and no husband then what will happen to my good name?"                    

 "Revenge is the best remedy for that," said the snake. "I have more pills and all you have to do is crumble one between your fingers and when the powder falls on your detractor's head, you will see them turn to ashes."                                                                                    

 The young woman took the handful of pills offered by the snake and immediately crumbled one and let the powder fall upon the snake.                                                                                                            

  "Do you mean like this?" she asked innocently, and watched as the snake turned to ash.                                                                          

 Then with a smile upon her face the bride turned to her husband and said, "Who ever does good to anyone, in the end good will be done to them, but who ever does evil to anyone, then in the end, evil will be done to them."                                                                                                                                        

And so they returned to their home together and lived in happiness and contentment with their children until the end of their days.

Source: Charles Swynnerton, Indian Nights' Entertainment: Folk-Tales from the Upper Indus (London: Elliot Stock, 1892), no. 42, pp. 133-38. 

Photograph You will reap what you sow by Roman W. Schatz

Hans in Luck

Hans worked for seven long years for the farmer and at the end of this time, went to him and asked for his wages. His employer was very pleased with the lad's work and paid him handsomely. He have him a lump of silver as large as his head. Hans placed it carefully in a sack and swung it onto his back and began his journey home.

Hans trudged along burdened by the weight of the silver. When a horseman trotted towards him he watched in awe. To travel freely along on horseback would be a treat. He dropped the sack on the ground and the rider stopped to greet him.

"Oh to ride such a fine pony," he said, "but I have to walk carrying along this lump of silver that makes my back ache. You wouldn't want to swap your horse for my silver ?" he asked.

The rider climbed down and examined the sack. His eyes lit up as he lugged the sack on to his back.

"Why that would be a fine trade," he said, and handed the reins over to Hans.

Hans mounted the horse, who immediately launched into a gallop. Hans hung on for dear life but when the animal jumped over a fallen log, Hans went flying through the air and landed on his backside in the middle of a ditch. The horse would have run off altogether if a shepherd leading a cow hadn't stopped him and brought him back to Hans.

Hans looked at the docile cow and smiled. 

"Now there's an animal who would never hurt anyone and what's more she's good company and useful. I would always have milk if i had a cow, and I could make cheese as well."

Hans smiled at the shepherd.

"Would you consider exchanging your cow for my horse?" he asked.

The shepherd was delighted and handed over the lead rope of the cow and jumped up onto the horse's back, gripped the reins firmly between his fingers, he trotted off.

Hans was hungry and took out a bread roll from his food bag. He would need some milk to drink with it. He took out his wooden cup and walked behind the cow and set about trying to milk her. But the cow was having none of it and gave him such a kick to the head that he lay dazed upon the ground. Luckily a butcher passed by pushing s pig in a wheelbarrow. He stopped and helped Hans to his feet and asked him if the cow grazing on the grass was his.

"Oh yes," he said, but she won't give any milk and certainly not any sausages like that fat gentleman you've got in your barrow. You wouldn't consider swapping your pig for my cow would you?"

The butcher rubbed his hands with glee and handed the barrow over to Hans and led the cow away.

A little while later Hans met a man carrying a fat white goose. The fellow stopped and looked at Hans' pig.

"Did you know that the squire on the farm over the hill had his best pig stolen?" he asked.

"Oh," said Hans, "you don't think that this is him do you?"

"Well, I know this beautiful goose is mine but where did you get the pig?"

Hans explained about the exchanges he had made and asked whether the countryman would consider exchanging the goose for the pig. The goose owner said he would be glad to take the pig off his hands and immediately gave him the goose and took the barrow and wheeled it away quick smart.

Soon Hans found himself in a village where he saw a grinder singing while he sharpened knives and scissors at his wheel.  He saw Hans and smiled at the fat goose he was carrying.

"You are a happy man with your trade. Why is that?" Hans asked.

"Because with a sharpening stone you will always have money in your pocket," he replied. "People always want their tools sharpened."

"Have you such a stone to exchange for a goose?" Hans asked.

The grinder reached into a basket and took out a large stone. The two exchanged goose for stone and Hans continued on his way, listening to grinder singing in a voice louder and cheerier than before.

Hans walked on till sunset and found himself on the banks of a river. He was tired from walking and carrying the stone, so set it down on the river bank while he cupped his hands and drank from the fast flowing torrent. When he had quenched his thirst he turned and knocked the stone which immediately tumbled down into the river. In no time at all it had disappeared. 

For a moment his heart sank, but unlike the stone it rose again, happy and light. Hans jumped up and dance a joyful jig. 

"My heart is light 

And my mind is free

There are none luckier

In the world than me.

Hans walked until he reached his mother's house and told her how very easy the road to good luck was.

References:

 

fear death and cholera

How do we come to terms with the worst natural disaster, perhaps ever, in the world? When the death of one person can be devastating, how do we comprehend the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people? There is the initial killing by the 'event' but then there is the aftermath as the infrastructure is destroyed and disease and hunger set in. The figures may spiral to millions with no guarantees that recovery will be unhampered by further earthquakes. This raises the question of refuge. Where is a safe place for survivors to live? The right “to leave” a country, laid down in Article 13 (2) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, has no corresponding right “to enter” a country. Hence there are millions of people throughout the world, waiting in displacement camps or leaking boats to be allowed entry to a country where they can have the most basic of human rights; food, clean water and shelter. Ant�³nio Guterres, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees stated that 80 percent of the world's refugees and internally displaced people are in developing nations, underscoring the disproportionate burden carried by those least able to afford it as well as the need for more international support. It also puts into proper perspective alarmist claims by populist politicians and media that some industrialised nations are being "flooded" by asylum seekers. Most people forced to flee their homes because of conflict or persecution remain within their own countries and regions in the developing world. Major refugee-hosting nations in 2008 included Pakistan (1.8 million); Syria (1.1 million); Iran (980,000); Germany (582,700), Jordan (500,400); Chad (330,500); Tanzania (321,900); and Kenya (320,600). Major countries of origin for refugees included Afghanistan (2.8 million) and Iraq (1.9 million), which together account for 45 percent of all UNHCR refugees. Others were Somalia (561,000); Sudan (419,000); Colombia (374,000), and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (368,000). Nearly all of these countries are in the developing world. (1)

So who will open their doors to the victims of the Earthquake in Haiti? Aside from throwing money, a reflex response to disaster and of course a laudable one because money is needed. Spending it on the 'right' things and getting it to the people who need it is another matter. I am interested in a change of individual attitudes, public policy and international law that allows everyone freedom of movement. But what if....? What if we were prepared to let go of our fears? Fear is what prevents people from opening up their hearts and homes to others. What do we fear? Loss? Change? If we really want to see justice served and that everyone enjoys basic human rights, then there must be an equitable distribution of wealth. After all how did the rich get rich? On the backs of the poor. The land, labour and resources of poorer nations and communities have provided and sustained the wealth of rich people and nations. The rich nations of the world must let go of their irrational fears of invasion and not only open their coffers, but also their borders. The only thing that should be left outside the border is Fear. 

(1)The UN Refugee Agency Website http://www.unhcr.org/4a3b98706.html  (19th June 2009)

The Three Companions

Indonesian Legends and Folk Tales

Told by Adele de Leeuw, Illustrated by Ronni Solbert, Published by Thomas Nelson and Sons, New York 1961

Hope by Roman W. Schatz

the wooden sword

Just enough left

Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need, but not every man's greed. 

Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)

Boxing Day, December 26. 2009 was the Non-Profit organisation, Do Something's inaugural National Leftovers Day.  Their goal is to reduce food waste and its environmental and financial costs, and they believe that Christmas time was the ideal time to launch their campaign.  Their research shows that Australians waste over $5 billion worth of food per year, thats over 3 million tonnes, and that food waste peaks in the festive season when, according to 2008 figures, Australians spend $7.6 billion on food in December alone. Their FOODWISE website http://tinyurl.com/y9429hw includes information about cutting down on food waste with a good selection of recipes for using leftover food. 

Just enough left

There was once a young woman who worked from sunrise till candle stump sewing clothes. She darned socks and patched shirts, she mended trousers and hemmed skirts. Day in, day out, plied her needle, all the while hoping that one day a customer would bring her material so she could create something beautiful.

One morning just before dawn, she wakened to the sound of knocking, She left her bed and climbed down the stairs from the attic and opened the door. The street was deserted and yet at her feet lay a bolt of material. Who could have left it? The girl lifted it up lugged it up the stairs to her room.  She opened her curtain to let in the first rays of sunlight, then laid out the cloth on the floor.  She sat on her bed and looked at the shimmering white silk in wonder. Before her eyes she saw a vision of what it could become. The tailor went to her sewing box and took out her scissors and immediately set about cutting the cloth. 

Snip, snip snip. There was just enough material left to make a wedding dress.

And as fate would have it, it was the tailor herself who wore the dress the following Spring. One of her customers, a gentleman, very impressed with her invisible mending had come courting the young woman and fallen head over heels in love with her. And when she appeared in her wedding dress, everyone gathered to celebrate the union gasped in amazement at its beauty. None more so than the groom himself.

With goblets brimming with sweet red wine, they drank to the health of the bride and groom, but when the bride, in her nervousness, took her own cup, it slipped and spilt down the front of her wedding gown.

That evening she soaked it but knew that no amount of salt would be able to removed the stain. Sadly she dried it and bundled it away in her trunk, determined to do something with it after her honeymoon.

Upon her return from travel, the tailor moved into the house of her husband and took with her, the scant belongings. She set up her sewing room and opened the trunk. There was the stained wedding dress, which she laid out on the table. It was such a shame to not use it, but as she stared at it she had an idea. She took out her scissors and immediately set about cutting the cloth. 

Snip, snip snip. There was just enough material left to make a cape.

Now that she was married to a gentleman, she was invited to many balls. She and her husband would dance the night away and arrive home in the early hours of the morning. All the ball goers remarked on the shimmering  twirl of her cape. It was one morning in late autumn when she sat in the warmth of her kitchen with her feet up on a stool, that she chanced to look down at the hem of her cape. It was  mud stained and tattered. She removed it and lay it over a chair.

'Such a shame,' she thought, knowing she could no longer wear the cape, 'if only there was another use for it.' But as she examined it, another idea popped into her head.  She took out her scissors and immediately set about cutting the cloth. 

Snip, snip snip. There was just enough material left to make a baby's gown.

As Fate would have it, the following summer a bonny baby boy was born to the young wife, and to celebrate his birth, she dressed him in the beautiful silk baby's gown. Over the next eight years, three more babies were born and each of them wore the silk gown. The last child was a little sickly, nestled in his mother's arms in the midst of all the family and friends gathered together to celebrate his birth. Without warning he possetted over the gown. That evening she soaked the gown and dried  and then she looked at the stains on the front and as she carefully folded it up to put away she thought, 'what a shame to put it away. There must be some use for it.' 

But as she examined it she had an idea. She took out her scissors and immediately set about cutting the cloth. 

Snip, snip snip. There was just enough material left to make a hat.

Over the next twenty years the mother was very busy raising her children and her attendance of balls was curtailed and replaced with activities more in keeping with that of a bustling wife and mother. She went to  fetes and garden parties and always wore her white silk hat. One evening after a hectic afternoon helping out at a charity party she returned to her kitchen and sat down on her favourite chair and took off her hat. She was just about to place it on the table when she spied the perspiration marks around it's band.

'How unseemly,' she thought 'for a lady to wear a sweat stained hat. I must get rid of it. But what a shame when it has served me so well.' It was then she had an idea.

She went to her sewing room, fetched her scissors and returned and  immediately set about cutting the cloth. 

Snip, snip snip. There was just enough material left to make a pocket for her apron.

The birth of her first grandchild was an occasion for celebration, and soon it was followed by another and another. It seemed the grandmother was working harder than ever and was never seen without an apron on and a duster or tea towel in her hand. But she always found time for the grand children clustered around her ankles. She would reach into her apron pocket and retrieve a sweet or a toy, a magic string or a finger puppet to amuse or console the little ones. One day she reached in and found her fingers had slipped straight through what had now become a frayed patch.

With great sadness she took off the apron and stared at the pocket.

'Such a shame,' she thought, knowing the pocket was no longer useful, 'if only there was another use for it.' But as she examined it, she had a thought.  She took out her scissors and immediately set about cutting the cloth. 

Snip, snip snip. There was just enough material left to make a covering for a button.

When she had made the white silk button cover she attached it to the waistcoat of her youngest grandchild's vest. The little boy looked very proud in his brand new outfit sewn by his grandma. He jumped around the house, ran outside and wrestled with his older sister on the grass and then it happened.

Pop!

The button flew off the vest and rolled down the path until it fell with a splash into a mud puddle. The grandmother arrived just in time to see its demise. She walked down the path and fished it out of the water. She held it in her hands and remembered what it had been. 

'Such a shame,' she thought, knowing the button was no longer useful, 'if only there was another use for it.' But as she examined the mudstained, soggy scrap, she had a thought. 

'There is just enough material left to finish the story.'

Artwork Inconstans by Roman W. Schatz

The Drum

Source: 

Ramanujan, A. K. (1991) A Drum. Folktales from India: A selection of oral tales 

from 22 languages selected and edited by A K Ramanujan, Pantheon Books 

New York. 

The Way Photograph © Roman W. Schatz 2009

The Three Dolls

loss

I can't help but laugh at my forthcoming loss. Although yesterday I cried. Afterall women lose their breasts, people lose limbs and eyes, men lose hair. What is my loss, comparatively? Its not like the big losses, when a child, spouse or loved one dies.  And my loss can be replaced with a fake one. I was looking at the stories I know that speak to me of grief and was reminded of one of my favourites, The Buddhist story of The Mustard Seed. But I felt that story was really for the major grief a person experiences in their life. I hope it will be a while before I share it with you in a personal context. I was flicking through a book of Indonesian folktales when I came across this story. Appropriately, it is the Chinese Year of the Ox and I do have an affinity with the cows. My grandmother ran a dairy, I grew up with cows and as a mother spent five years of my life breastfeeding. Getting an education however saved me from being a beast of burden and for that I am thankful. So this is the story that has come to me as an aid for understanding and coping with my current exigency.