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An Easter Story

This is an Easter story, a Passover story, an anytime-you-need-to-practice-gratitude story. Once upon a time there was a butterfly who had no wings. She could not fly from here to there, but had to wait for the wind to shake her loose from one flower and carry her to the next. One night she had a dream: She was transformed! She had wings! And the best part? She woke from her dream to find that it was true! She could fly on her own from blossom to blossom! She began to breathe a prayer: “Spirit of wonder! Spirit of love! Thank you for my new life. I will cherish every moment of it, even when my wings become faded and tattered.”

Why are you waiting?
The road your grandmothers walked
is calling your name.


Haibun © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #261
More Writers’ Pantry #15 at Poets and Storytellers United

Afraid of the Dark

She hated the night. She was terrified of night. Gibbering things with nasty little voices taunted her: “You’ll never amount to anything. None of your dreams will ever come true. You are worthless. You might as well die.”
Every night the gibbering things whispered their lies. But just because they were lies didn’t mean they could be ignored. Lies are like the fishhook that caught in her palm as a child. Her daddy carved it out with his pocketknife, digging deep into her flesh. The pain was almost more than she could bear, and there was blood everywhere. Blood and pain—like the gibbering lies. No wonder she hated to turn off the light. No wonder she tossed and turned every night. No wonder she fingered her rosary frantically, praying for daylight to come.
But one night, in addition to the gibbering voices, she heard, or thought she heard, another voice, almost a whisper. Well, more like a breath. And the Breath seemed to say: You are the daughter of wisdom and light.
Wait, she thought to herself, am I not worthless? Am I not a miserable excuse for a human being? Shouldn’t I just die and be done with it?
But the Breath persisted: You are the daughter of wisdom and light. You know what is right. In you mercy and goodness dwell.
Was this a trick? Was she just imagining things? She must be. She was worthless, and she knew it, and she was afraid of the dark, for the darkness told her that she had nothing to offer the world but her miserable, wretched existence.
Then she seemed to hear the Breath again: Sleep, child. Even though you are terrified, I am here, and you are safe.
And so she slept. For the first time in years, she slept through the night. And her sleep was good.


Story © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
The poem on which this story is based can be found here: A Voice in the Night
More A Pantry of Prose #3 at Poets United


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Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, Southern California

They tell the story
of how, on distant mountains,
one dove left her song.

Haiku and photo © 2017 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More SkyWatch Friday
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon


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Christmas tree decorations in a church in Arizona

the other story
about a star no one sees
and no one follows

Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher


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Arizona church interior, decorated for Christmas

Even the shadows
are repeating a story
begun long ago.

Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher


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Wellton Memorial Cemetery, Wellton, Arizona

a name carved in stone
only part of the story—
listening for more

Haiku © 2015 and photo © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher


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Palo verde tree, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona

too long a story
to tell without a respite—
how the branches fell

Haiku and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher


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Dawn, Sonoran Desert, Southern Arizona

too long a story
to tell without a respite—
the migrant’s journey

Haiku and photo © 2015 by Magical Mystical Teacher


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Pyramid at La Cañada de la Virgen, San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, México

temple of the sun
ever the sacred story
caught in webs of light
~~ ~~ ~~
Old worship sites still inspire wonder.

More Six-Word Saturday
More Shadow Shot Sunday 2
More Carpe Diem: “Akhenaten”


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Mrs. Cranston left a stone at Roxaboxen Park, Yuma, Arizona. (Read why people leave stones at Roxaboxen.)

The message is clear
without a Rosetta Stone:
neat story, neat place.

Text © 2015 and photo © 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Carpe Diem: “Rosetta Stone”