THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE

THE ENCHANTED COTTAGE

An open hand was calling to me. It belonged to an old woman waiting by the side of the road. She led me up a narrow path to the stone cottage that stood on the crest of a hill.

I followed her, unconcerned with what might be awaiting me for in her eyes I saw the smile of the Universe. She opened the front door and we entered, bending a bit, for the house was small and the door was low.

I found myself in a comfortable room where drying flowers and aromatic herbs hung from wooden beams. A hearth shone brightly with a crackling fire. On the floor to the side of the fireplace was a patchwork pillow on which lay a dog and a cat happily entwined in friendly sleep. The cupboard was filled with china, patterned in every description of flower, bird, and butterfly.

Near the center of the room was a table set for tea. The dog awoke and came to me to say hello. His tail wagged a greeting and he placed himself by my feet to fall asleep again. I sat myself at the little round table delighted by the unfolding scene and patted the sleeping dog. I felt very much at home in this room I had never been in before.

The old woman smiled at me. This time her face became a bright, gentle moon and the room glowed with warmth and goodness. I felt perfectly safe. We had not spoken a word but I felt much had been said. The saying of things that soothe the soul of a weary traveller sojourning through time and space.

There were gingerbread cakes on the plate before me and tea was steaming from the floral cup by its side. I don't remember it being poured and saw no kettle in the hearth. Still, at the very center of the table stood a teapot bubbling with warmth.

I had no sense of what time it was and what was the season of the year. I couldn't even remember where I had journeyed from and how I came to find myself in such a place. Even my name had mysteriously vanished from my mind and I sat there feeling strangely empty but delightfully carefree. Portions of me did look on with wonder, and the occasional question occurred to me. But all shadows quickly left my mind and I returned to the peace and quiet of the moment.

Everything everywhere in the room felt eternal. Though the pieces of crockery were chipped and cracked from wear, each thing had an aura of having always existed. The room itself had long not been painted but, every corner of it was clean and crisp and fresh. There was a personalness about the objects that comprised the cottage. As if they could all think and feel.

I vaguely remembered that where I had come from, this kind of thing was not allowed for and never discussed as a remote possibility. Yet, here I was, and this is what was happening, and it felt perfectly possible and very much wonderful.

I gave a sigh. Hope passed into me and I could feel all the tension in my body shift, relax, then remove itself. I sank deeper into the chair and reached a place in it or in myself, I couldn't tell which, where I knew the chair was carefully holding me. ME. Not just a body. MY body, and if I were somebody else it would hold me differently. It was me as I uniquely am that the chair adjusted its chairness to fit. This was its purpose in life and it received my presence as a gift to itself. I felt very, very cared for.

Suddenly, in this room with all the many things in it, it dawned on me that everyone and everything knew my name. My true name. The one uniquely mine, though there was no outer utterance of a sound designated to call me. I had been stripped of all labels. I felt a freedom I had never known existed. The long carried griefs of confusion and self-doubt lifted from my shoulders and my thoughts unraveled leaving me centered only in the deliciousness of the food before me. I was home. Home in myself. Host to myself.

The old woman came to sit in the chair beside me. She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot which was still steaming and drank. Still no word had been spoken but the air was alive and energy rustled from every corner of the tiny room. I didn't know what to say and in the deepest part of me wished not to speak. The old woman seemed to sense this for she silently patted my hand and took a piece of cake.

Her hand, which indeed did look ancient, felt to the touch as soft as a small child's. Glancing at my hand where she had patted it I found there the faint twinkle of what appeared to be a tiny star.

This I couldn't believe, so I rubbed my eyes and the strange impression vanished. For an instant, and for the first time, I felt a sense of loss. But this soon passed and I returned to the comfort and assurance of the moment and sank ever deeper into the chair.

I took another sip of tea and the sensation tickled my tongue. I felt that the tea was drinking me, as well, and taking genuine delight in doing so. How very odd all this was. How wonderful. Was this merely a dream? A wonderful, wonderful dream?

I sat for a long while with my teacup in hand. The liquid within it remained warm. And, though I kept pouring, the teapot remained full.

I became aware that outside the window was a window box in which grew the most beautiful flowers. They had an iridescence much like the tiny star I thought I had seen on my hand.

I got up to take a closer look and upon my approach, the window opened itself. Under my breath I whispered a near silent "thank you" to it and felt it nod a respectful acknowledgment.

The flowers were indeed very beautiful. In the shape of tiny marguerites, they filled the window box to overflowing and cascaded down the sides of the cottage wall.

Some were blue, some pink, others lavender. The yellow ones looked like tiny suns and were full of mirth. I wanted to bury my face in their midst. As soon as I had that thought I realized that they wanted to caress my face as well. How astounding this was. Oh, how lovely if it were true. I bent close to the sill and leaned toward the little yellow suns, and as I drew closer and closer I saw that there were millions and millions of little faces smiling at me, reaching up to kiss me. And so I buried myself deep into the welcoming love.

There was no resistance in me for the inevitable. What a delight it was. A shower of warmth and colors of every hue of the rainbow greeted my mind and body. Old hurts and bumps released their pain and I grew in every part of me renewed. Invigorated. Minuscule kisses were planted on every inch of my face and I felt radiant.

My eyes opened and found colors to see that they had forgotten existed. A rosy bloom flushed my cheeks and colored my lips. I was smiling a deep smile, an everlasting smile, the smile my face had been born for.

Seeing my happiness the little flowers in the flower box clapped their tiny hands and gave dainty bell-like cries of delighted laughter. They were applauding my successful return to joy. To think that I had friends such as these who shared fully in my emancipation and who knew how my soul exploded.

I felt dizzy with awareness. The life of despair and delusion was no longer my reality. I could trust my heart. I could believe in heavenly things once more.

I wept with relief. The old woman, now by my side, put her arms around me and kissed my brow too. I felt deeply shaken by the events in this quiet cottage and the old woman knew it.

My heart bursting, I passed my hands, ever so gently, over the glistening flowers. My fingertips hummed and tingled as I, too, caressed my flower friends. A faint spray of twinkling flower-dust fell from my hands and rested on everything I touched. I knew now that I was not alone in the Universe and that I had never been. This filled my heart with such a great peace and I felt more alive and awake than I had ever been.

And then, suddenly, I was sleepy. I returned to my seat at the table and found the fire in the hearth burning brighter than ever. The room was soft, warm, and all was well. I nestled into the chair, and making myself very comfortable I fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

* * *
I flew away with the angels that night. And I have never found the need to come back.

Words & Pictures © by Arlene Graston
All Rights Reserved

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