Again, I would like to share another story with you all!
NOTE: would you also like to see your story get illustrated? please check out my previous blog post hereand read the guidelines.
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Story Title: The Xocoyoles Submitted by: Juan Ruben Juarez Macias Country:Mexico
Those who lived a long time ago will tell you about a man who did not believe in the word of his ancestors. They told him storms with thunder and lightning were created by young children up in the sky; the so called xocoyoles.
Xocoyoles are the very young children who die at birth or before being baptized. Wings sprout from their shoulders and they are sitting on the hills and the crags. The legend tells that these pequeñitos (the small children) were doing various kinds of work: some poured water from big pitchers so rain might fall upon the lands and make crops grow. Others created hailstones and threw them down from the clouds, and still others created mighty thunderclaps and lightning by slamming their ropes on the clouds.
But one man did not believe the legend. One day, after a great tempest had passed over the countryside, he went to a hill planted with ocotes-trees (Pinus montezumae) to cut firewood. When he arrived there he saw a naked child, its two wings were stuck in the branch of an ocote.
The man was very much surprised, especially when the child said to him: "If you give me my rope that has fallen on the ground, I will cut up this entire tree into firewood, so you can take it."
"Really, will you do that?" the man asked. "Yes, I will do this for you."
The man soon joined several sticks and branches with which he could reach the top of the tree and thus give the rope to the stuck xocoyol. The child, having his rope again in his hands, told the man he should leave and return the next day to collect the firewood. The man thus went and when he was gone the xocoyol used his regained rope to create thunderclaps and lightning. Because of the force the ocote-tree splintered and broke, a perfect pile of firewood was the result. When the small child finished his work he flew away to his place in the sky and his brother xocoyoles.
The following day the man returned to the hill and found the huge pile of firewood, he looked for the xocoyol but did not see him anywhere.
From this day onwards he believed all the stories his grandparents told him.
PS: Juan Ruben Juarez Macias is also a very talented artist himself. If you like you can take a look at his gallery here: LINK
Is there a better way to start the New Year then with a great story? I don't think so. The following story was send to me quite some time ago and all those time it has been one of my personal favorites. It was such a special and detailed story that I thought it would be a perfect one to start the New Year with.
Virginie-Pairaya Pithon, who submitted the story told me that this ghost - tale is very popular in her own country (Thailand) and that it has been made into countless films and TV series. It has even been made into an animated movie and an opera. But more interesting might be that Mae Nak, the main character of the story, also became a popular figure in folk belief. At the place where she was supposedly buried a shrine was build. Virginie mentioned: "People visit this place everyday, and make offerings. Usually they will ask Mae Nak for luck with the lottery, but women expecting to give birth are told not to ask for Mae Nak’s help."
Why that is, you will find out while reading this marvelous and classic ghost-tale... NOTE: would you also like to see your story get illustrated? please check out my previous blog posthereand read the guidelines.
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Story Title: Mae Nak Phra Khanong Submitted by: Virginie-Pairaya Pithon Country: Thailand "Long ago, when King Mongkut reigned over Thailand and when Bangkok was still known as “The Venice of the Far East” a young woman known as Nak lived with her beloved husband Maak near the Phra Khanong canal. The young couple were very much in love and believed that nothing would ever tear them apart.
One day all of this changed. Thailand was at war, and she needed all the soldiers that she could get. Maak was conscripted into the Royal Army, and had no choice but to leave Nak and their unborn baby behind. In the subsequent war Maak was very badly injured, and while he was being nursed back to health Nak and her baby son died in childbirth.
Months would pass before Maak was able to return to his home near the Phra Khanong canal. When he did finally return, he went home to find his wife and son waiting there to greet him. Nak looked even more beautiful than he had remembered, and his baby son was healthy. Maak was very happy. Unbeknownst to him, the ghost of Mae Nak had enslaved him with a spell. Her love for him was so great that she wanted to create the illusion of a normal life, an illusion so perfect that he would stay with her forever.
When the neighbours realized what was happening they all tried to warn Maak that the woman he was living with couldn’t be Nak – that Nak had died in childbirth and that the woman he was living with had to be a ghost. Maak scoffed at these stories, unable to believe that his Nak was anything else than what she presented herself to be. Although Maak hadn’t believed any of the people who had come to warn him, the ghost of Mae Nak was not going to let them get away with it – or give anyone else the opportunity to take her husband away from her. Every single person who had warned Maak about his wife met with a macabre end… all of them suffered strange unexplained deaths. Some of them went through grisly fatal accidents, while others were found with their bodies drained of blood. Despite all these strange occurrences, Maak refused to believe that there was anything wrong with his wife.
One evening while Mae Nak was cooking for her husband, she dropped a chopped up piece of lime. It fell through a hole on the floor, rolling onto the ground below. Wanting to finish her cooking quickly Mae Nak neglected to be careful. She extended her arm to an unnatural length so that she could retrieve the piece of lime – but what she had not realized was that her husband Maak had seen everything.
With the sickening realization that his neighbours had been right, Maak plotted his escape while at the same time struggling to maintain the pretence that he was unaware of her true nature. One night, Maak tells his wife that he needs to go outside to urinate. Mae Nak, suspecting nothing wrong, did not try to stop him. Once outside Maak broke a little hole in an earthen jar filled with water so that Mae Nak would hear it and think he was urinating. As soon as he was sure that Mae Nak had fallen for his trick, Maak ran away from the village.
When Mae Nak discovered what had happened she became incensed. She set about hunting Maak down, but it was too late. Maak had sought shelter in the temple Wat Mahabut, and no matter how much Mae Nak tried, she could not enter this holy place. In her grief and fury Mae Nak terrorized the villagers that had helped her husband escape.
The villagers who lived in fear of Mae Nak searched far and wide for an exorcist powerful enough to get rid of Mae Nak. When they did, the exorcist trapped the grieving ghost in an earthen jar which was then thrown into the canal in the hopes that the ghost would never haunt the villagers again.
Unfortunately this was not to be. A fisherman and his wife further down the canal came across this mysterious jar one day while fishing and accidentally released the angry spirit within. Mae Nak was soon terrorizing the village just as before, when a venerable old monk was called forth to help them. This monk foretold that Mae Nak would be reunited with her husband in their next life. Upon hearing this, the ghost voluntarily agreed to stop killing and to pass on to the afterlife where she waits for her one and only beloved.
Another version states that the monk instead of telling Mae Nak that she’ll be reunited with her husband in her next life, exorcises her and then traps her spirit in a bit of bone from her dead body’s forehead. This bone he carried around with him until the day he died, and supposedly it is currently in Royal possession."
Wednesday, December 9, 2009, 03:43 AM EST
[General]
As happens with most stories we have heard when we were young, they slowly fade away. Only small bits and pieces remain and altogether they form a whole new story which has never been told before. This is, in fact, the destiny of all folk tales. After all, not one story will ever be told the same a second time.
The same counts for the following story, or better said, stories. The title is; The Green Lady & The White Lady. Eilidh Ellery was told these stories as a kid and wrote them down from her memories and as she declares; "I'm still not entirely sure I've got it straight...." But that did not matter in this case as they are after all still wonderful stories!
NOTE: would you also like to see your story get illustrated? please check out my previous blog posthere and read the guidelines.
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Story Title: The Green & The White Lady Submitted by: Eilidh Ellery Country: Fife, Scotland
White Lady legends are a common theme in the folklore of many countries. A female ghost haunts the scene of a betrayal, usually they have been wronged by a husband or lover. However, sometimes the Lady is the one who does the betraying. The White Lady of Kemback is believed to be the Widow of Myles (or Malise) Graham, a 15th century Scottish magnate. It is said that she gave up her husband under torture for the assassination of King James I of Scotland at Perth in 1437. Many a prayer was said, but still she wanders the woods of ash, oak and gean (wild cherry) around what once was her estate...
Besides The White Lady there also is The Green Lady of Dura Den. Green ladies - called Gruagach in Scots- are ghosts associated with water, much akin to Banshees. Often portrayed as a woman under enchantment; more fae than ghoulie (ghost/ghoul). Usually they protect a home or area, but they can also be malevolent depending on the story or storyteller. A young woman dressed all in green can be found in Dura Den down by the waters of the Burn; soaked to her pale, death-tinged skin with water weed for hair. It is said that she died when she flung herself from a window to escape a fire, but tragically fell into the swollen stream and drowned. On some nights you can smell the smoke and hear the crackle of the flames whilst faint, ghostly images of that flaming tower flicker and fade as she plummets to her doom, screaming. Others have seen her swinging from the brig (bridge) as if hanged.
Note: Eilidh added to these stories that ; "The Green Lady is sometimes called The Grey Lady, so she may not actually be a protective spirit. The two ladies may be linked and could in fact refer to the same apparition".
She also has written a lovely poem which I would like to share with you:
" The Grey Lady & the Green
In the woods of Dura Den and Kemback up the hill, There roams a maid of grey and white or green. Sometimes from the brig she is hanged, Sometimes by the river weeps. Her dress is white or grey or green, Her hair is waterweed. Behind a tree she may appear Or from flaming tower fall, Into the swollen stream; Hanged and tortured, Burned and drowned, Her death it was untimely, But still she wanders upon the earth This lady white, and grey and green. "
Thursday, November 5, 2009, 03:12 AM EST
[General]
The hand-cut, shadow puppet shown above is my tribute to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the writer of 'The Little Prince'. I carry this book with me, every day, in my handbag. Even more, I treasure it like some kind of crucifix, holding on to it whenever I am in need of consolation. This book has been part of my life for such a long time that it has become a true friend to me. And thus I wished to do something back for the little prince and his creator.
To show my appreciation and admiration, I thought there could not be a better scene to depict then the scene in which the little prince meets the fox. It is a story about true friendship as the following piece will show us....
It all starts when the fox, who is at first a stranger to the little prince, asks the boy to tame him. The little prince puzzled by these words asks the fox what 'tame' means, on which the fox answers:
"It is something which is too often forgotten, it means to establish ties....
To me, you are still just a little boy like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you have no need of me, either. To you, I am just a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, we shall need one another. To me, you will be unique. And I shall be unique to you.....
If you tame me, my life will be full of sunshine. I shall recognize the sound of a step different from all others. The other steps send my hurrying underground. Yours will call me out of my burrow like the sound of music. And look yonder!Do you see the cornfields? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. Those cornfields don't remind me of anything. And I find that rather sad! But you have hair the color of gold. So it will be marvellous when you have tamed me! Wheat, which is also golden, will remind me of you.And I shall love the sound of the wind in the wheat....
The fox became silent and gazed for a long time at the little prince. I beg of you..... tame me! he said."
The little prince, not aware of the important lesson he is about to learn, tells the fox he hasn't got time to tame him. As he has many things to discover and a lot of things to understand. But then the fox replied:
"One can only understand the things one tames"
Thus the little prince is tempted and finally agrees to tame the fox. From then they meet one another every day at the same spot and at the same time and through time they become close friends until eventually the day came for the little prince's departure.
But if you would like to know how the story continues, you should read the book for yourself. Trust me you won't regret it and it is most likely you will read the book over and over again. I know I do, I must have read it about thirty times by now.
There is just one other thing I would like to say:
Thank you Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, thank you....
(Soon, this puppet will be for sale at my Etsy shop)
According to Tabitha her own town did not have any tales. Though it once had a black dog, she said, it is no longer anything special. Luckily a relative of her told her about the "Old men of Painswick" and thus she was able to make a submission and I am very glad she did! I know, and I say this every time, but really, this legend is unlike any tale I have shared with you before.
NOTE: would you also like to see your story get illustrated? please check out my previous blog post here and read the guidelines.
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Story Title: The Old men of Painswick Submitted by: Tabitha Country: Gloucestershire, England
A pilgrim was travelling across the Cotswold Hills when he reached the village of Painswick, which is well known for its pure air and the tall yew trees in its churchyard. As he was climbing along the hill towards the village, he chanced upon an old, old man sitting upon a stone and crying his eyes out.
“What’s the matter, father?” asked the courteous young pilgrim. “Why, my old father’s given me such a lathering!” came the reply. “He’s beaten me so hard I can’t hardly stand upright.”
The pilgrim, naturally, thought the old man a little mixed in the head. But understanding the old fellow to be getting a little too elderly for his good, he said “You oughtn’t to be out be yourself on your lonesome. I’ll help you get back to your home.” And the pilgrim hoisted the old man up onto his back and carried him off over the hill to Painswick.
Presently they reached a neat little farmhouse. The little old man squirmed uncomfortably upon the pilgrim’s back. “This would be my home,” he said uncertainly. “But I’m most afeared of father.” “I’m sure your father won’t hurt you,” replied the pilgrim, certain that fathers surely dead can’t hurt their old children, and he knocked upon the door.
Almost instantaneously the door was opened, and who should open it but an even older old man, with bright black suspicious eyes and a beard longer than his arm. He held the doorknob in his hand, and a big ash stick in his other, and the little old man upon the pilgrim’s back flinched in horror. The pilgrim felt his passenger stirring, and said, to smooth the situation and bring the world to order: “Why, grandfather, surely you mean this little fellow no harm? He’s been running away from home, and crying something pitiful upon the hills, saying his father’s lamming him.”
“Why should I not lam him, dreadful creature that he is?” cried the old man. “Look into our garden and espy his poor old granfer up there in the tree, risking his old tender neck to get us cherries, while this rascal here tosses stones at him! And all in some manner of fun…this ash stick has some words to say to this delinquent!”
With that the old fellow leaped from the pilgrim’s back and took off fast as a galloping hare, with his old sire in hot pursuit. The pilgrim stood, left alone, not daring to peer into the garden to find the cherry tree, or its ancient harvester, before setting quickly back on his way. “Surely,” he said to himself as he tried to ignore the bellowing father and his son speeding away into the distance “they must live forever at Painswick.”
