Canon and counter-canon. Early on, the work of Hans Christian Andersen inspired much the same urge to panic in me that department store mannequins did. Later on, of course, my baby sister and I could spend a happy Saturday morning laughing it up at the expense of a campy early '70s TV version of "The Little Match Girl," and who wouldn’t enjoy the
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And I feel that the essential bit of it is not to give up, but instead to move forward with all our plans and projects. This is no time to abandon ship, this is the verging point. Even if the situation is suboptimal.
To quote myself:
"still, being free, we are now free to act, and thus all is not yet lost"
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just a quick thought -
How long have people felt "on the verge"? It seems that this feeling has been pervasive for quite some time.
Is anxiety like this part of modernity? A result of a radically and quickly changing world?
Is it a feeling has been around longer? What has led man to seek signs and portents?
Are we always at the verging point, and does it only require looking at it properly to see (a tilting of the head)? Or is it wishful thinking, a desire to be present during important moments, a desire to be part of the new way?
Or even something in us that wants to be "better" and thinks that if we are just ugly ducklings in this world, perhaps we'll be swans in the next?
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I think to the extent this is true, it's because more and more people are getting close to the root. The journey is always a microcosmic one, after all is said and done.
This is actually kind of an interesting line to follow, so I'll expand on it more after work, when I have some time.
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In true fairy tales we find that, however many transformations the hero undergoes, including being turned into an animal or even a stone, in the end he is always a human being, as he started out.
To me there is an interesting conflict between wanting to see the fairies and wanting to be the fairies.
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of course, many children fantasize that they were adopted, or some other variation on being a changeling, "this can't possibly be my *real* family, my *real* life"...
what is interesting to me is that I never wanted not to be my parent's child... but rather imagined that one of them somehow had faerie blood, which had simply run more true in me... or that, like sleeping beauty, I'd been touched by the faerie as a baby in some way
there is some difference between wanting to be faerie and wanting to be half (and still disctinctly human)
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It is however yes, a very cold post. I skipped the part about Hitler saying "as to the weather, I will see to that," and then of course the marshes and the sky rose up as though with a will and in concert to destroy the eastern army of the superman. Meanwhile, those ducklings somehow kept on keeping on. It's a juxtaposition that haunts me and I'm not sure Pauwels ever resolved it. Success was not Hitler's proof.
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and charming as they are in the stories, I've always wished I liked the real ones a bit better... but I just never quite fit in, and the limits to what we can communicate about eventually frustrate both me and them.
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