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Saturday, 19 December 2015

The Reality Travelers


The Reality Travelers


Hi, dear friends and followers. Today I wish to share with you one of my fairy fantasy poems, one that reflects on the moods of real life experiences. Thank you for visiting and for reading.
Shadowy mists fill the dim valleys


and obscure the woods

whose forms cannot be discerned.

The weeping trees drip on the forest floor

as the huge, full moon plays hide and seek

with the clouds so stubborn in the sky.

Intermittent moments of the Moon’s silvery light

flood the forest floor when the clouds allow.

Every moment of the night,

its darkness and light

twist in the mist below,

forever changing places, it would seem.

Then the mist shone like the star-light;

in the heavens above they sparkled so!

The breath from their pale faces

parted the mists like the clouds above,

revealing the sky filled with radiant stars!

About twelve of the wee folk flew far above Earth,

and encircled the moon with their magic rainbows.

One sparkle arose, more subdued than the rest;

A kind which, through trials, they have the best suited.

Fluttering down like a leaf from a tree,

slowly drifting down, down, to the forest floor,

She wore a sparkling crown, not having jewels;

but an inner source of flickering light!

The spirit light, some may call it,

but something more is at the center on the crown.

Mountains, valleys, lakes, ponds, and oceans,

therein there be, and so much more;

an unfathomable identity lays within.

Wide is its circumference.


And there is mist, descending like a drapery falls,

obscuring those who lived in hamlets, castles, and towns,

wherever they may be, over the strange woods or the sea.

They are the spirits on the wing, who fly with the buzzing insect,

or among the drowsy summer flowers

in a confusion of light, and nature's harmonic sounds.

Never will they cross the misty drapes

unless called upon to go beyond.

They return to the peace behind the drapes of illusion

to rest and to sleep after their arduous journey.

And then, how they sleep, so deeply, the wee ones!

They are doing well, and the reward is a just sleep.

In the morning they will rise and tend to their chore.

Their morning is used for aligning the rainbows

and to harmonize nature's melodies,

until the silver moon is once more soaring in the skies.

In the tempests they may be tossed,

Like almost anything in a storm’s furious path.

They use that moon no more

to the same end as before;

For never will they cross again,

the misty drapes that separates realities.
Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 


ڰۣ
In Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Friday, 18 December 2015

6 True Stories to Make Sane People Believe in Xmas Miracles Part 2

6 True Stories to Make Sane People Believe in Xmas Miracles Part 2
 By Robin Warder | December 24, 2014 | 558,744 views
Hi, dear friends and followers. Today I am borrowing this, for my daily blog opening quote: " We live in a cold, cynical world where miracles only seem to come in "Whip" and "Gro" variety, except around Christmas time. Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy reading today's Part 2 entry

Ship Rescues 14,000 Korean Refugees With Zero Casualties

Design Pics/Design Pics/Getty Images

In December 1950, after the start of the Korean War, thousands of North Koreans were gathering at the Hungnam docks, hoping for one of the Allied ships there to get them somewhere less massacre-y. Unfortunately, by the time they got there, there weren't many ships left and it didn't seem realistically possible to rescue everyone. Thankfully, the SS Meredith Victory, a small ship stationed in Hungnam, was captained by Leonard LaRue: a firm believer that one shouldn't concern himself with silly things like "reality" where human life is at stake.

via moore-mccormack.com

Also: Benedict Cumberbatch's grandfather, apparently.

Despite the fact that the Meredith Victory was designed to hold 60 people at most, LaRue ordered all 14,000 North Korean refugees to get on his damn boat, which was sort of like stuffing 200 people into one coffin. All the refugees did manage to get on board but they were packed so tightly in the cargo holds and on the ship's deck that they couldn't even sit down.

John Brady via moore-mccormack.com

"Meh, beats flying United, am I right?"

There were also no sanitation facilities or heat available on the ship, and that's how the floating sardine can was forced to navigate the mine-infested Korean waters without proper bomb-detecting equipment. Shit, the only weapon on the ship was Captain LaRou's service pistol. Mercifully he didn't need it because after two grueling days at sea, the 14,000 refugees finally reached safe heaven on Geoje Island ... on Christmas Day.

The most remarkable thing about this story wasn't that none of the passengers died in the bowels of the cold, dark ship, but that they actually ended up with more people than they started with. That's right: five women actually gave birth on the ship before reaching Geoje Island, which makes you wonder why has no one made a fucking movie about this yet?

Woman's Lost Dog Is Found 1,300 Miles Away on Christmas Night

fergregory/iStock/Getty Images

In April 2006, an Aurora, Colorado, woman named Vonda Lundstrom suffered the most heartbreaking situation not involving a wood chipper that any dog lover could endure: her pet rat terrier, Daisy, ran away from home and didn't come back for months. During that time, Lundstrom searched high and low for the lost pup, but found no trace of her. Finally, she was forced to accept that Daisy was probably never coming back.

Jose Luis Pelaez Inc./Blend Images/Getty Images

"She's eating her own poop in heaven now."

But seven months later, Vonda Lundstrom got a call from a woman in Knoxville, Tennessee, who claimed that she found a stray dog wandering down the street in front of her house, which just happened to be a female rat terrier. She got Lundstrom's contact info after calling the number on the dog's rabies tag and getting the dog's vet in Colorado, which confirmed that she did indeed find Daisy Lundstrom, and of course she found the dog on Christmas. Hell, she probably found the dog under a double rainbow or something.

Here's why this story points to Daisy actually being the canine Jesus. Other than her being found on Christmas, there's the whole business of Knoxville being located 1,300 miles away from Aurora. That's more than one-third the length of the continental United States, across numerous states full of wild animals, deranged hill folk, and swarms of drugged-out meth heads, and that's just in Kentucky.

No one knows how Daisy managed to survive such a journey, but we're betting all those hardships paled in comparison to returning home only to discover that Vonda Lundstrom has replaced Daisy with a new terrier named Elsie. That wasn't a joke.


Darin McGregor/Rocky Mountain News

"No, only my love was the joke ... " -Daisy.


Woman Survives After Being Buried in Snow for Three Days

Gary Blakeley/iStock/Getty Images

It was the week before Christmas in 2008, and Canada was undergoing a massive, apocalyptic snowstorm.

Thomas Wachs/iStock/Getty Images

Also known as "Friday"

The weather conditions unfortunately created a complex dilemma for Donna Molnar, a 55-year-old housewife from Ontario, Canada, who really wanted to bake cookies that day. At least, we assume it was cookies, which are the only reason a sane person would ever venture outside during Snowpocalypse 2008 to buy baking supplies like Mrs. Molnar did. That was the last her family saw her for the next three days.

After police were notified that Mrs. Molnar did not return home from her shopping trip, her abandoned car was found in a rural parking lot. Suddenly the search for the missing woman was on, even if the raging snowstorm made it a virtual certainty that Mrs. Molnar was dead and buried under a heap of snow. Miraculously, though, it turned out that everyone had it only half right because a dog named Ace did eventually find the missing woman buried under nearly 3 feet of snow in a field. The twist here is that she was still totally alive and conscious despite her body temperature having fallen to 86 degrees Fahrenheit.

Mrs. Molnar was then immediately taken to the hospital and treated for hypothermia and frostbite, eventually pulling through on Christmas Eve, that magic time when Death waves his hand and goes: "Oh, get out of here, you knucklehead. I'll get you next time." 

Donna Molnar later explained that she collapsed while trying to get help after a snowplow blocked her car. But as luck would have it, the falling snow created a protective, heat-retaining cocoon around the woman, who concluded this potentially tragic episode in the most Canadian way possible by apologizing to everyone for almost freezing to death.
Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Thursday, 17 December 2015

6 True Stories to Make Sane People Believe in Xmas Miracles


True Stories to Make Sane People Believe in Xmas Miracles

Hi, dear friends and followers. Today I am borrowing this, for my daily blog opening quote: " We live in a cold, cynical world where miracles only seem to come in "Whip" and "Gro" variety, except around Christmas time. That's when you start hearing about "Christmas miracles," those amazing tales about people overcoming impossible odds that the media probably made up to sell more Internet newspapers. Not these ones, though. These are all complete real Christmas stories that should come with a Surgeon General's warning because they'll make your heart grow three sizes:

A few Christmas Miracle stories.

Couple Discovers an Abandoned Newborn Baby in the Middle of the Desert









Digital Vision./Photodisc/Getty Images

In 1931, Ed and Julia Stewart were driving home on Christm

as Eve when they suddenly got a flat in the middle of the Arizona desert. While her husband changed the tire, Mrs. Stewart wandered off for a bit, and because what happened next was so amazing, we won't even imply that she was probably just looking for a place to piss. Mrs. Stewart came across an old hatbox, with an abandoned (but totally healthy) newborn girl inside.



Jack Kurtz/The Arizona Republic
When was the last time YOUR bladder saved a life?

Now, this all took place a few miles outside of Superior, Arizona, a tiny town which in 1931 was probably only populated by the Stewarts and an old dachshund with polio. Even today, there is literally nothing surrounding the town but a depressing wasteland, so just think what kind of astronomical odds it took for the couple to get a flat tire in close proximity to the discarded baby, allowing them to save her life.

What's even more incredible is that the Stewarts then decided to hand the little Christmas miracle over to the authorities so she could be legally adopted by properly vetted people. Unlike some folks...


Warner Bros.
"Sweet; free baby!"

Seventeen couples applied to adopt the "Hatbox Baby" but due to bad weather, only two of them managed to show up to the hearing. The judge ultimately granted custody to one couple who named the child "Sharon" and raised the shit out her. Sharon Elliott never met her biological parents, but with the support of her adopted parents, she did eventually work in the aerospace industry, which, considering that she was a woman raised in 1930s Arizona, is a miracle in its own right.

Woman Dies During Childbirth, Then Just Comes Back to Life



Purestock/Purestock/Getty Images

On Christmas Eve 2009, Tracy Hermanstorfer was at a Colorado Springs hospital about to give birth to her first child. But suddenly, disaster struck as Mrs. Hermanstorfer unexpectedly went into cardiac arrest, probably because she realized that she'll now have to get her kid a birthday and a Christmas present at the same time.

ABC News
"I then thought to myself: if I survive this, we're all becoming Jehovah's Witnesses."

After the mother's heartbeat came to a standstill, the doctors tried to at least save her son by performing an emergency cesarean section on the clinically dead woman. They got the baby out but the newborn was very weak with a rapidly diminishing pulse. The staff then handed the dying baby over to Mr. Hermanstorfer, assumingly so he could get a good, close look at his life going straight down the toilet.

That's when the universe yelled "You've been Punk'd!" and Mrs. Hermanstorfer's heart miraculously started beating on its own. Soon after that, her son's pulse stabilized, and he began breathing normally. They both eventually made a full recovery, with the mom not showing any side effects from being technically dead for four minutes.

AP
Other than her sudden craving for human brains.

And no, shit like this doesn't just happen in childbirth -- to this day, the docs at the hospital haveabsolutely zero clue as to what caused a healthy woman with no history of heart problems to suffer a cardiac arrest, or how she just got over it like that. The parents later decided to name their son "Coltyn," reckoning that if he survived this shit, he can survive high school with a name like that.
Man Falls 47 Stories, Wakes Up on Christmas Day

Medioimages/Photodisc/Photodisc/Getty Images



Alcides and Edgar Moreno were working as window washers at New York City's Solow Tower in 2007 when their scaffolding suddenly collapsed and the brothers plunged 47 floors down into an alley below. Edgar was killed instantly, but Alcides not only survived the fall, but was already sitting when the paramedics arrived.

William Farrington via nypost.com
Shortly after, he was sued by M. Night Shyamalan for plagiarism.

After the window cleaner was rushed to the hospital, doctors had to perform surgery on Alcides' ... pretty much everything. Over the next 18 days, Alcides slipped into a coma and underwent nine complex surgeries during which he had gallons of blood and plasma pumped into him. And you justknow that in all that time, at least person thought to themselves, "Aren't we just wasting time here?" We don't mean to be insensitive, but given the height of his fall, the man was on borrowed time as it were. It was only a matter of time before he ... woke up perfectly coherent from the coma on Christmas Day? What? But more importantly: HOW?!

No one is really sure how Alcides survived the accident, including his doctors. Even Michio Kaku, the Internet's favorite non-Tyson, non-Nye super scientist guy, attributes it mostly to luck, which is the closest a physicist will ever come to calling something a "miracle."

Dan Brinzac, Zazoosh Media via nypost.com
"Wait, THAT'S the building he fell off? Yeah, the dude's straight-up magic ... "

Still, crashing down 500 feet into concrete probably left Alcides crippled for life, right? For your information, Ebenezer Grinch, not only did Alcides learn to walk again, but just this past year, he completed a three-mile walk for charity in just under an hour.

Continued tomorrow
Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Wednesday, 16 December 2015

Visit me at http://tinyurl.com/cindyopenhouse G+ community

New York Times

Hi, dear friends and followers. This entry is about, do you believe in Santa Clause? The same as asking, Do you believe in the unseen? Please read on and decide for yourself. 

Yes, Virginia, a Thousand Times YesBy THOMAS VINCIGUERRA
Published: September 21, 1997

IT was exactly 100 years ago today when The New York Sun responded to the plaintive inquiry of Virginia O'Hanlon, an 8-year-old whose ''little friends'' had told her the unthinkable when she returned to school that fall. ''Please tell me the truth,'' Virginia wrote at the urging of her father, a New York City police surgeon and deputy coroner. ''Is there a Santa Claus?''

For all who are pure of heart, ''Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus'' has been the only possible answer since Sept. 21, 1897, when the world learned something about the power of journalism and of the human capacity to believe.

Just try to quote from any other newspaper editorial. The endurance of ''Is There a Santa Claus?'' seems to suggest that what most readers of editorial pages care about most are ruminations on singular subjects like blizzards or the death of a princess. For such observations can constitute a national gathering of sorts, validating emotions that people want to share but can't quite express.

'' 'Yes, Virginia' is the ultimate feel-good editorial,'' said John Tebbel, a former chairman of the New York University journalism department. But ''Yes, Virginia'' -- both the phrase and the editorial -- resonates beyond Dec. 25. Translated into some 20 languages and even set to music, the editorial somehow evokes a universal recognition of mystical affirmation, be it of the painfully obvious or the painfully remote.

The author was Francis Pharcellus Church, a sardonic Columbia College graduate and a veteran writer at The Sun, a popular daily notable in those days for its lively writing and human interest features. Mr. Church, whose personal motto was ''Endeavor to clear your mind of cant,'' reportedly ''bristled and pooh-poohed'' when his editor, Edward P. Mitchell, handed him Virginia's letter and asked him to reply. Yet Mr. Church produced a masterpiece -- under deadline, and in fewer than 500 words.

Viewed critically, Mr. Church's magnum opus is a sentimental mix of tautology, syllogism and fantasy. ''If I saw it cold,'' said the author's cousin, Richard Church Thompson of Gaithersburg, Md., ''my temptation would be to shorten it up. Every time I read it, I get hung up on the word 'supernal.' '' (It means heavenly, by the way.)

But it is precisely because ''Yes, Virginia'' does not bear close scrutiny that it is a true sleight of rhetorical hand -- and, therefore, magical. ''What this child is doing is knocking on the door of the adult world and asking to be let in,'' said Howell Raines, editor of the editorial page of The New York Times. ''And what this editor is doing is protecting her -- and his adult readers.''

William David Sloan, a journalism professor at the University of Arkansas, once put it this way in The Masthead, the journal of the National Conference of Editorial Writers: ''Had he denied Santa Claus, he might have torn down the fanciful world of many youngsters and tampered with the values and traditions many people consider important. Had he affirmed Santa Claus matter-of-factly, he would have contributed no ideas of lasting significance. What Church did was sustain a child's hope while giving her a statement of ideals that are worthwhile for the adult. He did not simply continue a myth. He gave a reason for believing.''

The historian Stephen Nissenbaum thinks ''Yes, Virginia'' is concerned not so much with faith in Santa Claus as with faith in faith. ''The late 19th century was a period of vexing religious doubt for many middle-class Americans,'' Mr. Nissenbaum wrote in ''The Battle for Christmas'' (Knopf, 1996), ''and one characteristic solution was to think that God must exist simply because people so badly needed Him to.'' When Mr. Church referred to ''the skepticism of a skeptical age,'' Mr. Nissenbaum said in an interview, he was speaking to grown-ups.

''Yes, Virginia'' has, of course, outlived its two principals (Mr. Church died in 1906, Virginia in 1971). Come Christmastime, however, the Century Club in Manhattan, of which Mr. Church was a member, and the Gannett Newseum in Rosslyn, Va., will offer retrospective displays.

Could ''Yes, Virginia'' be written today? Yes, said Stephen Simurda, a journalism professor at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, but ''whether anyone would notice it, sadly, I doubt it. Unless someone bought the rights and made a TV movie.''

Bob Haiman, president emeritus of the Poynter Institute for Media Studies in St. Petersburg, Fla., and the chairman of the 1997 Pulitzer Prize jury for editorial writing, said: ''Do you suppose there are any 8-year-olds left in America who still believe in Santa Claus? One can only hope. And after all, hope is what good editorial pages are all about.''

Dear Editor -- I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says ''If you see it in The Sun it's so.'' Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

--Virginia O'Hanlon, 115 West 95th Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 




ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Yes, Virginia, a Thousand Times Yes



New York Times

Hi, dear friends and followers. This entry is about, do you believe in Santa Clause? The same as asking, Do you believe in the unseen? Please read on and decide for yourself. 

Yes, Virginia, a Thousand Times YesBy THOMAS VINCIGUERRA
Published: September 21, 1997


IT was exactly 100 years ago today when The New York Sun responded to the plaintive inquiry of Virginia O'Hanlon, an 8-year-old whose ''little friends'' had told her the unthinkable when she returned to school that fall. ''Please tell me the truth,'' Virginia wrote at the urging of her father, a New York City police surgeon and deputy coroner. ''Is there a Santa Claus?''

For all who are pure of heart, ''Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus'' has been the only possible answer since Sept. 21, 1897, when the world learned something about the power of journalism and of the human capacity to believe.

Just try to quote from any other newspaper editorial. The endurance of ''Is There a Santa Claus?'' seems to suggest that what most readers of editorial pages care about most are ruminations on singular subjects like blizzards or the death of a princess. For such observations can constitute a national gathering of sorts, validating emotions that people want to share but can't quite express.

'' 'Yes, Virginia' is the ultimate feel-good editorial,'' said John Tebbel, a former chairman of the New York University journalism department. But ''Yes, Virginia'' -- both the phrase and the editorial -- resonates beyond Dec. 25. Translated into some 20 languages and even set to music, the editorial somehow evokes a universal recognition of mystical affirmation, be it of the painfully obvious or the painfully remote.

The author was Francis Pharcellus Church, a sardonic Columbia College graduate and a veteran writer at The Sun, a popular daily notable in those days for its lively writing and human interest features. Mr. Church, whose personal motto was ''Endeavor to clear your mind of cant,'' reportedly ''bristled and pooh-poohed'' when his editor, Edward P. Mitchell, handed him Virginia's letter and asked him to reply. Yet Mr. Church produced a masterpiece -- under deadline, and in fewer than 500 words.

Viewed critically, Mr. Church's magnum opus is a sentimental mix of tautology, syllogism and fantasy. ''If I saw it cold,'' said the author's cousin, Richard Church Thompson of Gaithersburg, Md., ''my temptation would be to shorten it up. Every time I read it, I get hung up on the word 'supernal.' '' (It means heavenly, by the way.)

But it is precisely because ''Yes, Virginia'' does not bear close scrutiny that it is a true sleight of rhetorical hand -- and, therefore, magical. ''What this child is doing is knocking on the door of the adult world and asking to be let in,'' said Howell Raines, editor of the editorial page of The New York Times. ''And what this editor is doing is protecting her -- and his adult readers.''

William David Sloan, a journalism professor at the University of Arkansas, once put it this way in The Masthead, the journal of the National Conference of Editorial Writers: ''Had he denied Santa Claus, he might have torn down the fanciful world of many youngsters and tampered with the values and traditions many people consider important. Had he affirmed Santa Claus matter-of-factly, he would have contributed no ideas of lasting significance. What Church did was sustain a child's hope while giving her a statement of ideals that are worthwhile for the adult. He did not simply continue a myth. He gave a reason for believing.''

The historian Stephen Nissenbaum thinks ''Yes, Virginia'' is concerned not so much with faith in Santa Claus as with faith in faith. ''The late 19th century was a period of vexing religious doubt for many middle-class Americans,'' Mr. Nissenbaum wrote in ''The Battle for Christmas'' (Knopf, 1996), ''and one characteristic solution was to think that God must exist simply because people so badly needed Him to.'' When Mr. Church referred to ''the skepticism of a skeptical age,'' Mr. Nissenbaum said in an interview, he was speaking to grown-ups.

''Yes, Virginia'' has, of course, outlived its two principals (Mr. Church died in 1906, Virginia in 1971). Come Christmastime, however, the Century Club in Manhattan, of which Mr. Church was a member, and the Gannett Newseum in Rosslyn, Va., will offer retrospective displays.

Could ''Yes, Virginia'' be written today? Yes, said Stephen Simurda, a journalism professor at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, but ''whether anyone would notice it, sadly, I doubt it. Unless someone bought the rights and made a TV movie.''

Bob Haiman, president emeritus of the Poynter Institute for Media Studies in St. Petersburg, Fla., and the chairman of the 1997 Pulitzer Prize jury for editorial writing, said: ''Do you suppose there are any 8-year-olds left in America who still believe in Santa Claus? One can only hope. And after all, hope is what good editorial pages are all about.''

Dear Editor -- I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says ''If you see it in The Sun it's so.'' Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

--Virginia O'Hanlon, 115 West 95th Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ



Tuesday, 15 December 2015

THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY OF STRASBURG GERMAN FOLK-TALE


THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY OF STRASBURG GERMAN FOLK-TALE
BY J. STIRLING COYNE (ADAPTED)

Hi, dear friends and followers. Today I am sharing with you a Christmas fairy tale. I hope you find it interesting, thank you for visiting my blog. Merry Christmas

ONCE, long ago, there lived near the ancient city of Strasburg, on the river Rhine, a young and handsome count, whose name was Otto. As the years flew by he remained unwed, and never so much as cast a glance at the fair maidens of the country round; for this reason, people began to call him "Stone-Heart."

It chanced that Count Otto, on one Christmas Eve, ordered that a great hunt should take place in the forest surrounding his castle. He and his guests and his many retainers rode forth, and the chase became more and more exciting. It led through thickets, and over pathless tracts of forest until at length Count Otto found himself separated from his companions.

He rode on by himself until he came to a spring of clear, bubbling water, known to the people around as the "Fairy Well." Here Count Otto dismounted. He bent over the spring and began to wash his hands in the sparkling tide, but to his wonder, he found that though the weather was cold and frosty, the water was warm and delightfully caressing. He felt a glow of joy pass through his veins, and, as he plunged his hands deeper, he fancied that his right hand was grasped by another, soft and small, which gently slipped from his finger the gold ring he always wore. And, lo! when he drew out his hand, the gold ring was gone.

Full of wonder at this mysterious event, the count mounted his horse and returned to his castle, resolving in his mind that the very next day he would have the Fairy Well emptied by his servants.

He retired to his room, and, throwing himself just as he was upon his couch, tried to sleep; but the strangeness of the adventure kept him restless and wakeful.

Suddenly he heard the hoarse baying of the watch-hounds in the courtyard, and then the creaking of the drawbridge, as though it were being lowered. Then came to his ear the pattern of many small feet on the stone staircase, and next he heard indistinctly the sound of light footsteps in the chamber adjoining his own.

Count Otto sprang from his couch, and as he did so there sounded a strain of delicious music, and the door of his chamber was flung open. Hurrying into the next room, he found himself in the midst of numberless Fairy beings, clad in gay and sparkling robes. They paid no heed to him, but began to dance, and laugh, and sing, to the sound of mysterious music.

In the center of the apartment stood a splendid Christmas Tree, the first ever seen in that country. Instead, of toys and candles there hung on its lighted boughs diamond stars, pearl necklaces, bracelets of gold ornamented with colored jewels, aigrettes of rubies and sapphires, silken belts embroidered with Oriental pearls, and daggers mounted in gold and studded with the rarest gems. The whole tree swayed, sparkled, and glittered in the radiance of its many lights.

Count Otto stood speechless, gazing at all this wonder, when suddenly the Fairies stopped dancing and fell back, to make room for a lady of dazzling beauty who came slowly toward him.

She wore on her raven-black tresses a golden diadem set with jewels. Her hair flowed down upon a robe of rosy satin and creamy velvet. She stretched out two small, white hands to the count and addressed him in sweet, alluring tones:—

"Dear Count Otto," said she, "I come to return your Christmas visit. I am Ernestine, the Queen of the Fairies. I bring you something you lost in the Fairy Well."

And as she spoke she drew from her bosom a golden casket, set with diamonds, and placed it in his hands. He opened it eagerly and found within his lost gold ring.

Carried away by the wonder of it all, and overcome by an irresistible impulse, the count pressed the Fairy Ernestine to his heart, while she, holding him by the hand, drew him into the magic mazes of the dance. The mysterious music floated through the room, and the rest of that Fairy company circled and whirled around the Fairy Queen and Count Otto, and then gradually dissolved into a mist of many colors, leaving the count and his beautiful guest alone.

Then the young man, forgetting all his former coldness toward the maidens of the country round about, fell on his knees before the Fairy and besought her to become his bride. At last, she consented on the condition that he should never speak the word "death" in her presence.

The next day the wedding of Count Otto and Ernestine, Queen of the Fairies, was celebrated with great pomp and magnificence, and the two continued to live happily for many years.

Now it happened on a time, that the count and his Fairy wife were to hunt in the forest around the castle. The horses were saddled and bridled, and standing at the door, the company waited, and the count paced the hall in great impatience; but still the Fairy Ernestine tarried long in her chamber. At length she appeared at the door of the hall, and the count addressed her in anger.

"You have kept us waiting so long," he cried, "that you would make a good messenger to send for Death!"

Scarcely had he spoken the forbidden and fatal word, when the Fairy, uttering a wild cry, vanished from his sight. In vain Count Otto, overwhelmed with grief and remorse, searched the castle and the Fairy Well, no trace could he find of his beautiful, lost wife but the imprint of her delicate hand set in the stone arch above the castle gate.

Years passed by, and the Fairy Ernestine did not return. The count continued to grieve.  Every Christmas Eve he set up a lighted tree in the room where he had first met the Fairy, hoping in vain that she would return to him.

Time passed and the count died. The castle fell into ruins. But to this day may be seen above the massive gate, deeply sunken in the stone arch, the impress of a small and delicate hand.

And such, say the good folk of Strasburg, was 
the origin of the Christmas Tree.

Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ


Monday, 14 December 2015

FAIRYLAND AND REAL LIFE

FAIRYLAND AND REAL LIFE

Hi, dear friends and followers. Today's topic is mostly about lessons in life. I hope you enjoy reading the entry and thank for visiting my blog
Let’s face it: life is complicated. It is full of everything from screw ups, bad luck, failures, and never ending wrong turns. But the biggest part of life is learning how strange it is to be human.
I consider Anodos from George MacDonald’s Phantastes to be a friend of mine (yes, when I read books, I often make friends). Maybe it’s because his wandering through fairyland is a journey much like my own, or maybe I just think we’d get along. After all, he’s good at slaying giants, and I like attacking Titans in the Frontier. Okay, maybe it’s more the journey thing.

Anodos doesn’t mean to go to fairyland; he simply wakes up to the morning sun and there he is. Like him, I open my eyes every morning in a world that might as well be fairyland, for despite my years living in it, I still don’t know my way around completely. 

I have stopped trying to make sense of the world because it will never make sense for as long as it is ruled by fallible unstable human beings. The only way it makes sense to me is what I do my best to do in each day. What can I do today that might help to make a little more sense for me and the people around me? I can only accomplish this, in one place and one person at a time, while living in a fallible world. Just do the best I can do today for I do not know what will happen tomorrow. I might get struck down by a meteorite for all I know. 
The journey is the most important part, and it ought to be remembered.

There is no map to life in these strange lands, not for me, not for Anodos. He doesn’t know where he is going; he journeys vaguely east and follows a river. Somewhere along the way, a seed of wondering is planted in his mind. It doesn’t take long for him to start striving for a life worth living, even in the world of fairy. I can almost hear him ask, “but how?” How in this crazy world of accidents and mistakes do you find something worth doing?

What's your true burn? What is your deepest desire? Once you know that, then don't let anything stop you. Do it! Even if you fail you have succeeded, just for having honestly tried. I know I have repeated this statement many times in my entries, but it is the most important lesson that I have learned in my life which helped to balance my self-esteem and worthiness. Even if I missed the boat on all opportunities that came my way, I am still a winner for having tried

How often I have wished I could meet one of the wise old women of the fairies, who would tell me exactly what I need to do that is worth my time. How often have I thought I would pursue a worthy thing if only I could find it.

Anodos does find it though. He ends up meeting two brothers, who take him in. Together they go to slay some giants that were terrorizing some townsfolk. Perhaps this is it, Anodos’ moment; the mission his life was building up to. This is the deed that will somehow make his life worthwhile.

Somehow I thought slaying giants would usher in some happy ending for him, 
and everything would work out well. But no. The brothers die and Anodos lives, becoming a hero of the kingdom. But there isn’t a happy ever after. He wanders on.

Have you heard the saying, be careful what you wish for? Well sometimes you end up finding out what you got was not really what you wanted. Or the novelty wears off and it becomes more of a burden than something beneficial. I only just pray for each day to bring me whatever joy I can get from it, Life is getting shorter and I do not any longer have time to waste on yesterday's dramas and other negative trivialities. I count my blessing and move on and share them with others who might be interested in hearing them

I think this is why I love Anodos’ story so much. He meets more successes and failures along his journey, just like I do.

Past failures creep back into his life, just like they have mine. At a low moment for him, a shadow that had stalked him since his first steps in fairyland returns. It is stronger than ever now, and it imprisons him.

While jailed, Anodos suffers much. He finds himself tired, alone and without hope. Eventually, he is freed, saved by a beautiful song sung by a woman he had wronged ages ago. He is free, but he is a broken man; in that moment, he asks for and is granted forgiveness and reconciliation.

Somehow I thought slaying giants would usher in some happy ending for him.
Leaving those words, he reflects on all his wandering thus far, how he has changed and how he has not. “Self will come to life even in the slaying of self; but there is ever something deeper and stronger than it, which will emerge at last from the unknown abysses of the soul” (Phantastes 169).

Is this life? A constant losing and finding of self, till somehow the idea of a true self-emerges through the ashes, purified by the fires of success and failure? Will it be the same for me? That somehow, after all, this is over I will see how it makes sense though it all seems like nonsense right now?

It does, and so it will continue to appear like that in a world of such chaos as ours appears to be in at this time. As I have mentioned above, alone we can't save the world, but we can help it along in it's healing one person at a time. Your very own fairy world is no further that in your own heart. You build it piece by piece every day of your life. Just need to meditate and reflect back and you will see fairyland was there all the time
Anodos reminds me of myself. There is that fumbling uncertainty, that trying to do something worth doing, that repetition of mistakes. Yet somehow the fires of success and failure act as a purifying agent so that the unknown abysses of the soul can come forth.

The last chapters of Phantastes record Anodos’ death. The introductory quote to this chapter, written by Novalis, leaves me wondering. “Our life is no dream, but it ought to become one and perhaps will.” When I die, will this life feel like a dream? I hope not, because as confusing as it is, the journey is the most important part, and it ought to be remembered.
Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. Have a great day. 
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ




AYÚDEME PROSPERAR, IGUAL QUE TÚ

AYÚDEME PROSPERAR, IGUAL QUE TÚ
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