(Note: I’ve swiped this whole post from my other new (sigh) blog. I’m a little bit sorry for cheating, but … not much. :))
I hadn’t made a shadowbox for months, but last week, quite suddenly, needed to.
Anyone who knows anything at all about the Science of Fairytales knows they’re supposed to be a good way to safely meet our own fears and the scary parts of the world. I don’t know how true that is. Academics have a great talent for convincing themselves (and their students) that they’re right.
Fairytales are equally valuable – more, if I get a vote – for being doorways into stuff that’s the opposite of villainous and scary. Fairytales are little lands and scenes where my imagination can relax and find all the things we long for: safety, romance, delight, love and fairness.
It doesn’t mean they’re so pretty that they’ve been cleansed of all intricacy and darkness. No no.They’re not antiseptic.They’re events engineered by my mind, after all. Our minds. In my own fairytale-ing, I know that just beyond the borders, life is tapping and waiting patiently with its horrors and grotesqueries and general discouragement.
I can’t begin to deal with those things, much less combat them, if my mind and imagination are drained or if anxiety’s chewing at whatever it chews on.
I do best when I feel warm and when my mind is loose. I don’t expect it to get that all the time (good thing, because it hasn’t happened yet) – just enough to be restored, to revive some of that glittering swoopiness. And that’s what the fairytale that I write and create and imagine for myself is: a scene that lets my me come out.
It has great healing powers.