by Gwyneira Morgana
Once there was a young girl born to a family that already had more children than could be reliably accounted for. Luckily however, the family into which she was born was a prosperous one – her parents being of the noble class. Her birth then was a matter for great celebration, and she was as welcomed and as loved as any child could be.
Now not a long time after her birth, her parents were called away on urgent matters of state – for indeed with privilege comes responsibility, and, though we are not told why, they were not seen or heard from again. The young girl and her family were though well provided for. Indeed, both her and her siblings were noted for their fair manners, excellent study habits and congenial natures – all testimony to the environment of love and care in which they lived.
Years went by, and it was not long before the young girl had become a young lady, and while adolescence can bring with it a degree of change, the change that came over this young lady surprised all. It was not that she became rebellious, or even badly behaved – it was more that she began to shrink into herself – becoming more and more preoccupied, forgetful – some even said a little odd. Most thought it to be just a faze, and, not really knowing what else to do, left her to work it out for herself. One person however, a wise old Aunt decided that someone had to have courage enough to brooch the subject, and., choosing her moment with care – when all was quiet and no-one else was around, she asked the young girl what was wrong. For what seemed like an eternity silence hung, and then all at once it all poured out;
“I am blessed with such privilege, such good fortune, I know that I should not complain – I should be happy, content – but I am not.”
The Aunt listened in silence.
“For all my good fortune and privilege, I don’t know who I am. I cannot remember my parents, and though I hear stories from time to time, I cannot see myself in their eyes, in their actions, in them., and if I don’t know who I came from, how can I know who I am?”
The Aunt though for a moment, then said simply to her – you are right, and I am glad that you have told me, for this can be remedied far more simply than can be imagined.
Make sure that you are to dinner on time, and we will pursue this after we have eaten.
That night the large family gathered as was the norm. After dinner all stayed at the table chatting – again, as was the norm. As the evening grew older however the wise old Aunt stood, and shared the young ladies dilemma. She explained how, being the youngest, she had no memory of her parents, and how her life was for her incomplete – not knowing who her parents were.
And so she asked each to take a moment and consider what attribute of the parents each had that they shared with the young girl.
One by one, the young girl heard how her eyes were not only like her bug brothers, but also like her Mothers, and how her ability to calm a fretting animal was not only like her third oldest sisters ability to do the same, but also like her Fathers. One by one the family shared how in them could be seen the reflection of her parents.
And how, whenever she sought to know herself better, she could do so through them.
Gwyneira Morgana
Jan 2004