Once upon a time a girl journeyed into the woods, where stories
were woven out of thin air and existed only in a mutable place on
the edge of consciousness. Once upon a time the fairytale was a
dark place where we could touch our shadow selves and, perhaps,
shudder as we came to know what lurks in the hearts of humankind.
Once upon a time nothing made sense and we were forced to construct
meaning so we could sleep at night.
Out of the wind we pulled stories; our collective experiences passed
from generation to generation to help define our existence and express
the values necessary to live out our days in the company of others,
without upsetting the balance. Those stories began to metamorphose,
to become more astute expressions of the human condition, and they
were variable in their retelling. Each teller might change the word
pattern, the events recounted, to create something new, to give
words new meanings and bring them into the realm of the physical
where they assume a form, acquire weight, occupy space and become
dimensional.
