morgan schatz blackrose

DESIRE and SATISFACTION or If I have that I'll never want anything else!

Stories are my mentors. I trust that they come to me with the intention of illuminating my path. Yesterday the story of The Fisherman's Wife sprung to mind. It is a tale that I have shared with many children over the years, revelling in its repetitive phrase; 'If I have that I'll never want anything else.' The listener soon catches on that this woman will never be satisfied, and before long they are interacting with the story and repeating this anticipated phrase.  The way I have told it to children explores the notion of greed never being satisfied, although resolved with a poetically just ending. Older children and adults may see the tale as a moral about the consequences of capitalism.  But yesterday I realised that I was the fisherman's wife and that this is a tale about Desire and Satisfaction. The desires that can never be permanently satisfied in my life are hardly outrageous, extravagant or unreasonable, just  those of any parent; to have children who are well and healthy. Of course children sicken and most will heal, in a society where clean water, good food and health services are a given. However it  is not unusual to have Faustian thoughts if your child's illness is chronic, painful or terminal; a desperate parent will go to any lengths to see their child well, even selling their soul to the devil. But are we ever satisfied with our children's health and well-being? 

Source: Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, "Von den Fischer und siiner Fru," Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 1st ed. (Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung, 1812), v. 1, no. 19.

Photo 'More' 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.

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World Read Aloud Day

March 3rd 2010 was World Read Aloud Day, where storytellers, story readers and story lovers came together to celebrate the joys of reading in their own communities. I visited my group of special kids and as a change to my usual storytelling and musical story sharing we did Readers Theatre and Dramatising stories to show additional ways of story sharing. The sequence of the morning was as follows: Welcome, then I taught them the action story, Keys to the Kingdom, to establish a cohesive group focus, then we did the Reader's theatre. They retold the story then acted the story out. This process was repeated with another story and then after a discussion we had our goodbye song.

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The Treasure Dream

Let me tell you a story. It’s an old story, but like the best of the old stories its meaning transcends time and place. It's a story I tell both as a reminder of the importance of following your dreams and a caution to not overlook your internal resources in their pursuit. However, as the story shows, the path to finding your treasure is not a straightforward one. You must be able to identify your treasure, and often we don't know what it is until after we've found it. This is why interpreting dreams requires logic, imagination and a certain amount of time to contemplate them. As the French writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery says, 'The meaning of things lies not in the things themselves, but in our attitude towards them.' 

Too often I have been guilty of overlooking the treasures in my life, and I am poorer for it. But each time I tell a wisdom tale I feel that I have rediscovered a treasure. And if the tale should fall on a receptive ear, then I have shared my wealth.

The Treasure Dream

There was once a man who had the same dream seven nights running; that if he went to a certain bridge he would find treasure there. He knew exactly where that bridge was, and one morning set off to find the treasure he dreamed of.  When he came to the bridge he spent many hours peering into its cracks and crevices, in search of the treasure. A stranger watching his movements asked whether he had lost something. The man sheepishly admitted to having had the repeated dream, and the stranger laughed. He explained that he too had such a dream and described the place where his treasure lay; inside a house with a blue front door and a peach tree in the front yard. The stranger scoffed at the man for pursuing his dream and told him to ignore it, as he himself had done. Afterall, a dream has no substance. The two men said goodbye to each other and the treasure seeker returned home. Upon reaching his house, he plucked a peach from the tree that grew in his front yard, then opened his blue front door and walked over to the fireplace. He reached up inside and just as the stranger explained in his dream, found a leather satchel hidden away on a ledge inside the chimney. He emptied it onto the floor and beheld a mound of gold sovereigns. He was now a very rich man.

This story is found in many cultures and has been recorded by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm as Traum vom Schatz auf der Brücke in Deutsche Sagen (1816/1818), vol. 1, no. 212. and The Man Who Became Rich through a Dream in The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, translated by Richard F. Burton (London: The Burton Club, 1885), vol. 4, pp. 289-90. It falls into Aarne-Thompson type 1645 about dreamers who seek treasure abroad but find it at home.

Photo by Roman W. Schatz

Storyteller's Story

At the conclusion of the school's activities celebrating oral culture, we sat in the staffroom enjoying the elation a successful day of creativity elicits.  A teacher sat beside me and told me she had read the story of the Mermaid of Zennor eight times that day, once for each of the groups who visited her. A tale from her own cultural tradition and home country, it brought her great joy to be able to share it with the International school community. She confided in me that even though she knew the story well, she read it rather than told it, because the text gave her security. This was not the first time I had heard a teacher say this. The transition between reading a story and telling it can be a difficult one for many people to manage, and the reason for this is Fear. I said to her that if she told the story she would attain freedom. As we didn't have a lot of time to discuss what this means in depth, I will explain it now. 

Storytellers source their repertoire through either listening to other storytellers (both professional and those within their own communities) or reading folktales in books. A storyteller must consider both the prejudices and preferences of folklore collectors in written versions of folktales, especially those that were collected in previous centuries, and also their own relationship to the story. By relationship I mean that the storyteller may be intimate with the setting of the tale, familiar with the events described or know the traditions associated with its telling. What is often called 'owning the story' does not mean that the story is from your cultural tradition, although it could be, it means that you tell the story in your words, in your way and from your heart. This doesn't mean that you don't borrow some of the words from a written text or storyteller you love, because they best create the image you want to convey to your audience; all storytellers are guilty of some word or phrase appropriation. But the most authentic tellings are in your words. 

Now to forsaking the security of the written word in the pursuit of freedom. You can begin telling your tale with an acknowledgement of the written source as a version of the tale you know, and if listeners want to read the story, you can give them a reference. But follow on with an assertion like, 'this is the way I tell the tale.'  Or you can frame the story by explaining to your listeners your relationship to it.  For example, 'this tale was told to me by my mother, who was told it by her mother and her mother before that, and now I am telling it to you.' Or, 'this is a traditional tale from the first people to live in this country and if you live here then its important you know this story.' 

When I first started storytelling I thought that meant finding a written tale and memorising that version. Other people's words are easy to read but not to tell. No matter how many times I tried to remember the exact words of a story I was learning, I failed. Very few people learn a folktale word for word because this is not the natural way to pass a tale on to others. It is good to learn by heart any repeated rhymes and know the phrases you will use to begin and end a story, but the substance of the tale is easiest learnt by imaging, or making pictures of the story in a sequence in your mind, much like a film. The words which you use in your telling may not be as descriptive as those in a written version, but you won't have to wrestle with trying to retrieve those words from your memory, because they're your own words, describing simply and accurately what is happening in your pictures. The immediacy and directness of your account to your listeners will more than make up for literary devices used in a written work you are reading.  

Direct communication between storyteller and listener is the essence of storytelling, because it is an interactive process. The teller is guided by the listener's engagement with the telling. Not having a book as an intermediary liberates the teller to use their whole being to tell the story.  They can modify their telling to suit the preferences of their listener rather than be restricted by the words on the page. Even the most expressive reader has to look at the text every few sentences, and therefore their eyes cannot always be looking at their listeners. Their hands are generally involved with book holding and page turning and therefore cannot be used to gesticulate. Reading done sitting or standing takes place in the one spot, so dramatic expression is limited to that area. However the most important difference between reading a story and telling it in your own words is that the tale's presentation, progression and resolution are in the hands of the teller. Therefore, the story becomes their story; shared with their listeners. This doesn't negate any acknowledgement of story sources, but defines the storyteller as the giver of the tale. 

Initially I said that Fear is what prevents people storytelling. What are people afraid of? I have heard many teachers say that they can tell a story to young children but not in front of colleagues or parents. Fear of criticism, judgement and ridicule by peers begins in childhood and often continues through into adulthood. We live in a world where humiliation is served up to us in the guise of entertainment. One has to be brave or desperate to volunteer any public performance, so choosing an empathetic audience is important. It is worth noting that in an educational environment the majority of parents and work colleagues are going to be supportive rather than antagonistic to your storytelling endeavours.  Fear of failure is another barrier to beginning storytellers. 'What if I forget what comes next in the story, what if I trip over my tongue, what if nobody listens? All of these fears can be addressed through good preparation and compassion. Generally your listeners will be understanding and forgiving if you make a 'mistake'. I have found children as a class, to be the most forgiving and generously spirited souls. The compassion you need to develop is towards yourself. If you find this difficult then imagine that you are a friend who is beginning storytelling. Are you going to demean or applaud her attempts as a storyteller? 

Now for that paradoxical fear; the fear of being listened to. 

When I first started storytelling I was in a character costume and I always told stories sitting down. There is nothing wrong with a sitting position for storytelling, if that is what is most appropriate for teller and listeners, and there's nothing wrong with adopting a storytelling persona. But I sat down because I was afraid of standing up and claiming the storyteller's space. I was in character because the storyteller was another separate identity, not really me. My fear was about being myself, and allowing others to see and hear me. 

I worked with a drama consultant on how to stand up and tell, but it took quite a few years to discard my fairy costume and become Morgan, the storyteller. The fact that much of my work was in an 'entertainment' capacity prolonged the fairy persona, however, when I did move into telling stories in the arenas of education and health promotion I felt that I was beginning to understand the real power of storytelling. 

Over the years people have asked me why I became a storyteller and I've responded with various answers about love of books, stories, performing, communicating with people etc. However these answers never seemed accurate or comprehensive enough. Until one day I had what is referred to as an 'aha moment'. I became a storyteller because I wanted to be heard! 

Once I understood this, it was as though a veil lifted from my eyes and I was able to see into my heart. Knowing what you are doing is one thing; knowing why you are doing it gives clarity to your purpose. It is also the best antidote for Fear. So what do I want people to hear? Stories of empowerment, compassion, tolerance and the celebration of community strength and diversity. Essentially the stories I tell have Love at their core. Traditional tales tell of love withheld, the desire for love, it's absence, it's expression and ultimately it's triumph. Love can conquer Fear. For me storytelling is a gift of Love.

Photo by Roman W. Schatz

Morgan performing on Folkways Day 2009, at the International School of Augsburg