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Archive Number 1036 | ||
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Date: Thu, 7 Feb 2002 10:29:52 -0800
Laura Simms did a workshop for 50 staff storytellers at the Staten Island school district. I forgot the exact number, but a few hundred children lost a parent in the WTC tragedy. It was early December, and the coordinator told us that the island still had many funerals per day. After introductions, Laura introduced the booklet she had produced called "Stories to Nourish the Hearts of Our Children in a Time of Crisis" (see http://www.laurasimms.com...or see the Healing stories website for many of the stories.) She said, "You all know that stories are not just entertainment. Each story contains a seed of a feeling, and..." A hand shot up. "Yes?" "What do you do when the seeds won't stop sprouting grief?" That question took the group right to the core. Instead of explaining, Laura immediately told the story, from the booklet, called "The Hunter's Gazelle." It's from Arabia. Once, a young boy begs to go hunting with his father. The mother objects "he is too young." The hunter says it is all right, he is old enough. And they go hunting. They track down a beautiful golden gazelle. As they approach, the hunter tells the young boy to stay safe by the tree so he could find him later. So the boy sits under the tree. The hunter takes his bow and arrow and sets after the gazelle. In that moment, a snake slips down the tree and bites the boy. And he dies. When the hunter returns with his prey, he sees the body of his boy and is grief stricken. How could he ever face his wife? His son was dead. He wraps his son's body in his cloak (I believe Laura said "the skin of the golden gazelle") and returns to his village. The wife sees him at a distance and greets him. "What do you have there." "It is a gazelle," he tells her. "But a special one. To cook it, we must use a pot that has never been used to cook a meal of mourning. Ask the neighbors if they have such a pot and borrow it." So, the wife went from hut to hut, asking "Do you have a cooking pot that has never been used to cook a meal of mourning." Each neighbor told her the story of a son who died of a fever or the husband who died in battle or a mother who died in childbirth. Or a parent who died of old age. In this way, the wife heard the stories from every house in the village. Every pot had been used for a mourning meal. She returned to her hut, exhausted. "Oh, husband," she said, "there is no such pot. All the pots have been used to cook meals of mourning. All families have known death and sorrow." The husband unfolded his cloak, revealing the body of her son. "Today, my love, it is our turn." Well, that's a paraphrasing. Probably should have just copied it from the booklet. If this seems like the right story, let me know and I'll get the copy of it from the booklet. Carol Wright | ||