The Sick Scribe – A Tale of Determination and Gentleness

   Once upon a time, there was a Scribe who came down with the flu. The Scribe, he was not just any Scribe, he was the King's Scribe. That morning, the Scribe sneezed himself awake. His nose ran and his body ached, but the Scribe was determined to get out of bed.
   "I must get up and began my day," the Scribe said, sniveling and snuffing. "For I am the Scribe that records the King's words for all to be heard. No time to be sick, I must get up right away, no time to be sick– No, not today!"
    So the Scribe rose, put on his clothes, and put on some tea, for his breakfast, you see. He had a bit of leftover cake, hardened a little from its night awake. He chewed and sneezed, crumbs flying in the breeze. The Scribe, he sneezed out so much more of the cake, so much more of the cake than he actually ate.
   But, the Scribe was determined to write away, recording the events of the King's day. With his quill and parchment, the Scribe climbed the stairs, the King, he was waiting up there, in the Courtyard, with Knights all round, that is where the King was found.
  The Scribe, he sat at his usual spot, where he could sit and see the lot, drawing and writing for all of time, what happened that day in the King's court. It seemed the knights were playing some kind of sport, with a small round disk that flew threw the air, a frisbee, we'd call it, if we were there.
 The Scribe drew the scene that he did see, preserving it for all of prosperity. But as he drew, his nose ran and ran, running all the way down to the ground. It flooded the courtyard, ruining the game, but the Knights, they did play, just the same, wading in snot as green as the grass, throwing the frisbee round and round, right, left, up and down and back again.
  The Scribe, he sneezed a terrible sneeze, one that shook even the King's knees. It blew through the Courtyard and dried up the snot, but the stench caused the spring flowers to rot. But the knights, they still played while the Scribe, he drew, for that was what they were supposed to do.
  "Excuse me, Sire, and Knights of the Court, I didn't mean to ruin your sport – I'm just trying to write, as I am supposed to do, even though it seems I've come down with the flu!" The Scribe, he did apologize as he sneezed again, disturbing the skies.
  Purple snot shot right of his nose, and landed on a Dragon's toes, a little spit landed in his eye, so the Dragon, he did torch the skies!
  Fire rained down on the Courtyard below, and the King yelled, "Scribe, you have to go! More trouble you have caused, getting out of bed! Go back home and rest your head! Better to know when you need rest, then to go off trying to do you best. I appreciate your strength and dedication, but Script, it is time to take a vacation. Come back when you are feeling well, and then I'll have a tale to tell, which you can write down every word, so that the King's words will always be heard."
  The Scribe sneezed again, blue snot put out the flames, leaving the flowers scorched and maimed.
  "Sorry, Sire, you are right, and with that, I bid you goodnight," the Scribe said, bowing his head, then went downstairs and back to bed.
  The Scribe, his snores, they rumbled to earth, as the Knights played again with delight and mirth. And so the Scribe rested once more, not rising until health was restored.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com

The Procrastinating Prince

      Once upon a time, there was a Prince who did want to do anything, but play video games. He slept in late and had his servants bring food to his quarters while he sat on his bed and played Dragon Quest all day long.
      When asked if wanted to ride his horses, the Prince said, "Nay… I'll do it later, I'm busy right now." When asked if he wanted to train the knights, the Prince said, "Nay…I'll do it later, I'm busy right now."
       The King grew more and more frustrated with the Prince.
      "How can I get him to do something? … Anything?" the King asked his court.
      "I have an idea, Sire, that might help motivate him," the Magician said. "But I will need the help of the Dragon that guards the castle gates."
      "Why, of course," the King said. "I'll give you anything you need…just get that boy out of his room and doing something!"
      "Thank you, Sire," the Magician said.
       That evening, the Magician snuck into the Prince's quarters. He took his DS and flat screen TV away and hid them in the Dragon's Lair,  a dark cave at the top of Black Mountain.
       The next morning, the Prince awoke and found that his things were missing.
     "Where are they?!" the Prince demanded. "I want to play Dragon Quest right now - I'm on the last level!"
     "Sire, it seems that the Dragon was interested in playing Dragon Quest, as well," the Magician said. "Last night, he flew into your chambers and stole your player and TV. This morning, he has not taken his post at the castle gates, but instead, he is high up in his lair, playing Dragon Quest. Every time he kills a bad guy, he gets so excited that smoke and fire fill the skies!"
     "Well, I must get it back, then," the Prince says. "Servants, ready my horses. Gather the knights. We are going on a Dragon Quest of our own!"
      The Prince mounts his horse and rides to where the knights are waiting. "We must ride to the top of Black Mountain and recover what was taken from me!"
      So the Prince leads the nights through the Phantom Forest and up towards Black Mountain. As the slope was too steep for all of the knights to climb, the Prince went up the mountain alone.
      When he reached the Dragon's lair, the Prince snuck into the cave. There he saw the Dragon, curled up on rock playing Dragon Quest. So involved in the game, he was, that he did not notice the Prince's arrival.
      The Prince spoke up. "Dragon, I challenge you to a duel! To the death! What say you, Dragon?"
      The Dragon looked up from the TV screen and met the Prince's eye.
     "I accept your challenge!" the Dragon said. He smiled and bowed his head. "So I shall set the game up for two players, then?"
      The Prince smiled. "Yes, that's a great idea!"
      So the Dragon and the Prince battled together, killing each other over and over. The Dragon snorted whenever he won, setting fire to the rocks near by. The Prince roasted marshmallows over the flames, eating one every time he defeated the Dragon.
      As night fell, the Prince prepared to return to the castle.
     "So I shall return the same time tomorrow and we will continue to battle?" the Prince asked, eyeing the Dragon.
     "Yes, Sire, that sounds like a great idea!" the Dragon said, smiling.
    And so the very next morning, the Prince rose very early. He rode the horses and trained the knights for battle. And then the Prince climbed up the mountain to the Dragon's lair and they battled until dusk. Day after day, the Prince rose early, rode the horses, trained the knights, and battled with the Dragon.
      Upon hearing this great news, the King called the Magician to the court.
      "I am afraid, Sire, that my trick has produced mixed results," the Magician said. "I did not expect that the Dragon would be lured in by the game as well."
     "Nonsense!" the King said." I am grateful for the success you have had. At least you have gotten him out of his room! At least, he's out socializing! Thank you, Magician, for all of your help.…Now, there is just one more thing… Can you find me another Guard Dragon? I'm afraid that the castle gate is not very secure without one…"

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com

The Cranky Princess: An Enchanted Tale of Depression and Woe

Once upon a time, in a land far away, far beyond this dimension, living a princess named Cora. One morning, Princess Cora woke up and didn't want to do anything. She did not want to go for a ride on her pet Dragon, Grimmel. She did not want to eat in the pancakes in bed. In fact, Princess Cora didn't even want to get out of bed. Some might say that Princess Cora was a bit more than cranky, that maybe, just maybe, Princess Cora was a tad bit depressed.

But the King would her none of it. "My Cora is not depressed," he would say, "She is just having one very bad day."

But a week went by, and Princess Cora still didn't want to get out of bed. "It's too much bother!" she would say, "And why would I get up, when there's nothing to do? It's so boring being a princess!"

Although the King and Queen did not believe that there was anything seriously wrong with Cora, they were starting to get worried about her, so they sent for the Fairy Godmother.

The Fairy Godmother sat on the side of Princess Cora's canopy bed. Princess Cora looked up, and then rolled over. She pulled the green and yellow blankets over her head and groaned.

"What is it, child?" the Fairy Godmother said. "What's wrong? Why won't you get out of bed?"

"Oh, Fairy Godmother," Princess Cora said, sighing. "I just don't want to be a princess anymore. It's just no fun at all."

"Well, my dear, I can grant you one wish," the Fairy Godmother said. "What is it that you wish for?"

"I wish that I was a caterpillar in a cocoon, so that I could stay in bed as long as I want," Princess Cora said.

"If that's what you wish for, so be it," the Fairy Godmother said, smiling.

The Fairy Godmother waved her magic wand and Poof!  – Princess Cora turned into a caterpillar. The green and yellow blankets turned into her cocoon and she hung high above in the canopy of her bed.

"Ahhh, this is perfect!" Princess Cora as she rolled over in her new caterpillar body. "It's like being in a hammock in here! Thanks, Fairy Godmother - I am finally happy!"

Well, the King and Queen were not too happy that the Fairy Godmother turned their only daughter into a caterpillar.

"What are we going to do with her now? How can she be a princess when she's all bound up in silken blankets?" the Queen asked, frowning.

"Just wait, Your Majesty, just wait," the Fairy Godmother said, nodding her head. "Soon Princess Cora will be the best princess she could ever be."

So the entire Kingdom waited and waited. Then one day, the Princess' cocoon started to crack. Princess Cora started to fall, but somehow she did not fall far. She was saved by beautiful yellow and green wings. A caterpillar no more, Princess Cora was now a butterfly.

"Weeeee!" she said, as she fluttered about. "This is fun!"

Princess Cora was not only out of bed, but she was flitting this way and that, flying here, there and everywhere.

The King and Queen were so happy to see Princess Cora out of bed, that it didn't matter to them that she was a butterfly. But most of all, the King and Queen were happy to see Princess Cora smiling and laughing again. The cranky princess wasn't so cranky anymore.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com

If a Cat Sat: A Kitty Meditation Contemplation

So, this poem was inspired by my cat, Shadow, who is a frequent meditator. One day last week, Shadow jumped up on my meditation cushion, just as I was about to sit down. Her form was so perfect, it looked like she was meditating herself – I just had to go get my camera. So often, she comes in the shrine room when I am practicing, to sit on my lap, and absorb buddhadharma.
So here it is:

If a cat sat in meditation,
what would be her contemplation?
Would she wonder about the birds in the trees,
wondering when they would eat or sneeze?

Would she wondering what's for lunch,
what lovely treats she'll get to munch?
Or would she think about nothing at all,
no thoughts or wonders, big or small?

Would she sit still, like a proud little bear,
sitting and breathing without a care,
allowing any thoughts to flow right through,
drifting away like the crowd in a zoo?

I wonder what goes on in there,
when she sits with her little kitty stare.
What can I learn from my darling kitty, dear,
who seems to easily stay in the now and here?

Sitting, breathing, letting thoughts fade away,
letting her mind simply rest and stay,
not bothering with thoughts, no problem at all,
just letting them be, both big and small.

So this is what I learned as my cat sat,
sat on my cushion, being where she's at,
being right here as her thoughts drift away,
carried with the breeze on a summer's day.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com

Happy Hippo's Hula Hoop Hullabaloo: A Tale of Healthy Boundaries

Happy Hippo hopped round and round,

hip-ity, hop-ity, and upside down.

She hopped around with her hula hoop,

hopping, hopping in a loop-de-loop.

Her hula hoop was like a deep, thick line,

drawn in the sand between yours and mine,

holding all of her important notions -

her needs, her wants, and her emotions.

You, too, have your very own hula hoop -

for if you didn't, you would start to droop.

It lets you know when it's time to sleep,

when it's time to sing, or not make a peep.

It lets you know when you feel sad,

or happy, scared, surprised, or mad.

What made Happy happiest of all,

was when everyone else was on the ball,

with hula hoops close, but not too tight,

not overlapping and causing a fight.

But not everyone felt that way,

her family often had their say,

hopping into Happy's hula hoop,

trying to meddle, search, and snoop.

“You look tired!” Sister said.

“Go upstairs and get to bed!”

“Don't tell me what to do!

You only know what's best for you!

It makes me mad when you cross the line,

not knowing the difference between yours and mine,"

Happy said, stomping her feet,

her hippo hips booming a steady beat.

“Stay out of my hoop and I'll stay out yours!

I won't bug you to do your chores!

If you forget to do the dishes,

I won't do them or feed the fishes,

when that's your job, and not mine,

this is where I draw my line!”

“What are you talking about?

You are supposed to help us out!”

Brother said with a snort and a shout!

“Mom said that we're a family,

we help each other, don't you see?

Happy, what is wrong with you?

You're being selfish, and nasty, too!”

Happy stomped her feet harder on the floor,

her hula hoop much stronger than before.

“This hula hoop gives me room to grow.

There are times I just need to say “No!”,

when saying “Yes!” would hurt me so.

We all need space to grow up strong,

to respect each other and get along.”

Well, Brother and Sister had had enough,

of all of this crazy hula-hoop stuff.

They grabbed Happy and threw her down,

their hula hoops flying all around,

tangled like a ball of twine,

mixing up yours and mine.

“What's going on?What's this all about?”

Mother scrambled in to find out.

Her hula hoop was tossed and tumbled,

as the Hippo family fought and fumbled.

Arms and legs all over the place,

everyone in each other's space.

Father came in, as calm as can be,

looking around, so that he could see,

standing back, with a wide-screen view,

of the Hippo Hula Hoop Hullabaloo!

Happy began to hop about,

hopping, hopping to get out

of the Hippo Hula Hoop Hullabaloo.

Happy hopped 'til she finally broke through!

She spun around with her hula-hoop,

hopping, hopping in a loop-de-loop.

She spun around, like a ballerina,

the most graceful hippo you've ever-seen-a.

Happy spun, picking up speed,

her hula-hoop, finally freed.

It lit up like a UFO,

giving off a bright, green glow.

Happy's hoop spun on its' own,

clearly defining Happy's zone.

It spun and spun, 'til it was on fire,

spinning, spinning like a burning tire.

Brother and Sister stood far away,

from the blazing hoop that day.

Mother scrambled and leaned back,

her hula hoop barely intact.

They understood, without a word,

that Happy's “No!” was finally heard.

Happy smiled as the hoop fell down,

burning a hole in the ground,

leaving a mark, a line in the sand,

letting all know this was her land.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com

The Grounded Trees - How to be Calm in Chaos

Up, up high in the Tree of Life,

my mind, it sways with fear and strife.

As the winds and rains do blow,

my emotions wobble to and fro.

To the branches, I hold on tight,

the wind blowing with all of its' might.

Sadness here, jealousy there,

my feelings blow me everywhere.

No matter how hard I do cling,

I am blown 'round with everything.

Looking down far, far below

the roots are still as the wind does blow.

I wonder why it's quiet down there,

when I'm blown 'round everywhere.

I called down to the roots, wondering why

they are not affected by the stormy skies.

“How do you stay still while the winds do blow,

as all of this change is troubling me so?”

“We know the secret of the Grounded Trees,

staying rooted when there's stormy seas,

standing tall in the middle of a squall,

then if the winds and rains do blow,

we will not be troubled so.”

“How do I stand strong and tall

when I feel so little and small?

How do I stay rooted when the winds do blow,

Please, Mr. Tree, please tell me so.”

“Find the Ground that is always there,

the Groundless Ground, if you dare,

for it's not what you might think,

not the earth itself, or a cosmic wink -

It is the present moment that you must find

in order to have peace of mind.”

“Hold on to the Branches of the Past,

and you will find that you won't last;

the Branches of the Future will only go,

to angst, worry, and lots of woe.”

“Let go of the Branches of the Times,

and you will find some peace of mind.

Thought, it's not what you might think,

not calming music or the colour pink... ”

“Peace of mind looks different every minute,

but you will know when you are in it.

Even though the winds do blow,

you won't wobble to and fro;

in the middle of stormy seas,

you can be a Grounded Tree.”

“But what do I do to be a Tree?”

“Do nothing at all, just sit and be -

silent and still as the wind arises,

creating thoughts and feelings of many sizes,

notice the body, breath, and mind,

as it changes all the time.

Sitting still will settle you down,

finding your roots in the ground.

Then you can finally be

one of us, the Grounded Trees.”

So I thought I would give it a try

as the wind blew in the stormy skies,

letting go of the Branches of the Times,

sinking into natural peace of mind.

My! - it looks so different down here,

even though strong feelings are near,

there seems to be much more space,

as the winds blow everyplace.

I now see that I'm not so small,

that I can stand tall in the middle of a squall.

Even though the winds do blow,

I don't wobble to and fro,

and they don't trouble me so.

The present moment I have found,

no longer being blown around,

rooted in the Groundless Ground.

Now, I can finally see

how to be a Grounded Tree.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com

The Sage in the Page: A Tale of Self-Acceptance and Appreciation

When I look in the mirror, all that I see

are all these flaws looking back at me.

Not good enough - No! No! Not at all!

these thoughts feel like a thick, iron wall,

imprisoning me in this mental cage,

with no space to see the perfect sage,

seemingly written in permanent ink,

always affecting what I see, feel, and think.

And even though, I know deep down inside

there is no reason I need to hide

who I am to the world and yet I see,

a horrible, slimy thing looking back at me.

A thing with claws of anger and regret,

parts of myself that I don't like yet:

confusion, desire, pride, envy, and rage,

appearing on the ground of the perfect sage.

And yet I know that the thing and the sage,

are somehow linked, like the words and the page,

We get lost in the words as they appear,

forgetting that the page is - Oh, so near!

For the words, they form the story being told,

but the page is the primordial ground of old,

the ground of all my not-good-enough thoughts,

of my should-have's and should-have-not's.

The words appear, but it is I who creates

the story that spins and propagates.

It is the story that's reflected on the page -

not who I am; just the bars of the cage.

The cage itself is not a problem, you see,

as it is not as solid as it appears to be.

I am not what I think or feel,

but I made it all a really big deal,

creating a tale, a tale that is tall,

when, really, there is no problem at all!

With closer inspection and skillful recollection,

I finally see my true nature, my true reflection,

seeing through the story being told,

seeing the perfect sage of old,

knowing that although the words appear,

the ground of the page is always near.

And so I look in the mirror once more,

and see much more than I did before.

With an open heart and a resting mind,

the perfect sage I finally find.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay 

www.knottedwordscelticart.com, Twitter: @AngelaDMac, www.angelamackay.com