The Christmas cave
There was a time, not long ago, when a woman told me of a situation that scared her. Normally, I would have put on my armor, buckled on my sword and rode to her rescue because, you see, in my spare time, I like to pretend that I am a knight. However, this particular story happens when I was in Malta. I had left all of my knightly armor at home, and I hadn’t asked the Knights of Malta for their blessing in practicing the arts of knighthood while I was in their jurisdiction. They probably wouldn’t have been offended, but decorum requires that a knight declare himself to the order that has reign over a geographical region.
Remembering that the pen is supposed to be mightier than the sword, I took mine up… But, dear reader, this isn’t my story, after all. This is, instead, her story; you know, the woman who had to face her fear, and it began the way that all good fairy tales begin…
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful woman who had traveled far from her home. She lived in a grand place to the north where Christmas was celebrated a day early to some ways of thinking, but it was always a wonderful affair with the hearth heated to roaring and chestnuts popping near it. The family would gather round, and even their presence would make the holiday warmer and sweeter. Childhood memories rush back every year, especially during the Christmas season. However, children must grow up, and this woman had chosen to seek a great adventure.
On this particular Christmas, she found herself on an island not far from the comforting sound of the pounding surf. She stood before the yawning mouth of dark cave and wondered if she should go in. There was something vaguely familiar about the cavern, with its dark and its unknown, as if she had seen or heard tales of just such a place long ago, and those tales now rested in dim memory summoning up feelings more than actual events.
The weather was changing, and the sun was setting. She knew she would have to take refuge soon or face a night exposed to the elements. She looked into the mouth of the cave, but her eyes could discern nothing. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see what was in the cavern. This was somewhat unsettling, but she decided to investigate further.
“Is anyone in there?” She shouted. Only her echo came back to her. Loneliness flew from the cave like a black bat. She shivered but realized that there was no one there.
She took a step toward the cave, and the sound of rock grating against rock reached her ears. Could the cave be getting bigger? She looked down and realized that she had stepped in a place where two rocks had ground up against each other. It was only her imagination that amplified their sound.
This close to the cave, she could smell the damp born of ocean air and salt, but there was another smell – one she must have been imagining. Was it the smell of gingerbread? That would be absurd. What would gingerbread being doing in a cave? Especially fresh baked gingerbread…
She took another step closer, and closer still. Even though the cave raised goose bumps on her arms and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, she knew she would have to go in. She remembered other stories about how other people had conquered their fears. Happy thoughts would allow them to fly. Spoonfuls of sugar would help the medicine go down. Songs would remind them of better times, and help them gather courage. She hummed a merry tune and committed herself to the cave.
She was completely engulfed in darkness, for just a split second, and then the cave lit up like a Christmas tree, but not like a small Christmas tree with a couple of lights for show, No! This was like the most-decked out of trees that there ever could be. Lights and colors flitted throughout the cavern playing with each other in a dazzling show. There were thousands of jewels, with each one representing a special memory. There were hundreds of torches providing the light of imagination and the illumination of love.
The cave of wonders with its magic lamp and genie, a monkey and a magic carpet held nothing compared to what this cave held. It was the most beautiful of all thoughts and the warmth of home, regardless of how temporary. That final step into the cave was well worth it for the woman as she reveled in not what was there but what she imagined to be there – all of the people and things that represented light, truth and love.
How many treasures can one cavern hold? You may rightly wonder, and we may never know. For you must remember that this story is not mine, dear reader, it is hers. While some say that she could tell you a number, others insist that she herself could never know. Even if she could tell you, you would find it hard to get an answer for she now sleeps comfortably in that cave, the one she found so frightening just a little while ago, and you would not want to wake her for all the treasure in that cave. She now sleeps comfortable, warm, protected and safe with a small smile of contentment on her lips, love in her heart and a happy dream to enjoy until she rises next.
Remembering that the pen is supposed to be mightier than the sword, I took mine up… But, dear reader, this isn’t my story, after all. This is, instead, her story; you know, the woman who had to face her fear, and it began the way that all good fairy tales begin…
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful woman who had traveled far from her home. She lived in a grand place to the north where Christmas was celebrated a day early to some ways of thinking, but it was always a wonderful affair with the hearth heated to roaring and chestnuts popping near it. The family would gather round, and even their presence would make the holiday warmer and sweeter. Childhood memories rush back every year, especially during the Christmas season. However, children must grow up, and this woman had chosen to seek a great adventure.
On this particular Christmas, she found herself on an island not far from the comforting sound of the pounding surf. She stood before the yawning mouth of dark cave and wondered if she should go in. There was something vaguely familiar about the cavern, with its dark and its unknown, as if she had seen or heard tales of just such a place long ago, and those tales now rested in dim memory summoning up feelings more than actual events.
The weather was changing, and the sun was setting. She knew she would have to take refuge soon or face a night exposed to the elements. She looked into the mouth of the cave, but her eyes could discern nothing. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see what was in the cavern. This was somewhat unsettling, but she decided to investigate further.
“Is anyone in there?” She shouted. Only her echo came back to her. Loneliness flew from the cave like a black bat. She shivered but realized that there was no one there.
She took a step toward the cave, and the sound of rock grating against rock reached her ears. Could the cave be getting bigger? She looked down and realized that she had stepped in a place where two rocks had ground up against each other. It was only her imagination that amplified their sound.
This close to the cave, she could smell the damp born of ocean air and salt, but there was another smell – one she must have been imagining. Was it the smell of gingerbread? That would be absurd. What would gingerbread being doing in a cave? Especially fresh baked gingerbread…
She took another step closer, and closer still. Even though the cave raised goose bumps on her arms and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, she knew she would have to go in. She remembered other stories about how other people had conquered their fears. Happy thoughts would allow them to fly. Spoonfuls of sugar would help the medicine go down. Songs would remind them of better times, and help them gather courage. She hummed a merry tune and committed herself to the cave.
She was completely engulfed in darkness, for just a split second, and then the cave lit up like a Christmas tree, but not like a small Christmas tree with a couple of lights for show, No! This was like the most-decked out of trees that there ever could be. Lights and colors flitted throughout the cavern playing with each other in a dazzling show. There were thousands of jewels, with each one representing a special memory. There were hundreds of torches providing the light of imagination and the illumination of love.
The cave of wonders with its magic lamp and genie, a monkey and a magic carpet held nothing compared to what this cave held. It was the most beautiful of all thoughts and the warmth of home, regardless of how temporary. That final step into the cave was well worth it for the woman as she reveled in not what was there but what she imagined to be there – all of the people and things that represented light, truth and love.
How many treasures can one cavern hold? You may rightly wonder, and we may never know. For you must remember that this story is not mine, dear reader, it is hers. While some say that she could tell you a number, others insist that she herself could never know. Even if she could tell you, you would find it hard to get an answer for she now sleeps comfortably in that cave, the one she found so frightening just a little while ago, and you would not want to wake her for all the treasure in that cave. She now sleeps comfortable, warm, protected and safe with a small smile of contentment on her lips, love in her heart and a happy dream to enjoy until she rises next.