***If you would like to purchase the recording of this event and obtain a copy of the writing prompts we used to explore the story, reach out to me at Innerlightasheville@gmail.com—the price is proof of your chosen donation to Center for Native Health or Native Songbird Care.
“After working for many years in this field, I have come to the conclusion that all fairy tales endeavor to describe one and the same psychological fact, but a fact so complex and far reaching and so difficult for us to realize in all its different aspects that hundreds of tales and thousands of repetitions with a musician’s variations are needed until this unknown fact is delivered into consciousness; and even then the theme is not exhausted.” -Marie-Louise von Franz
For autumnal equinox, I will be telling two interwoven tales: the Irish myth of the Children of Lir, and the European fairy tale The Wild Swans. These haunting stories, though interpreted through different cultures, are deeply interconnected in symbol, motif, and image. We’ve already met Caer Ibormeith—the shapeshifting swan guardian of the dreamworld— and Gaoth, Lugh’s exiled sister of the air. Here’s a third strand in our swanfeather weaving, to honor these powerful denizens of earth, water, and sky as they wing their way south.
I warmly invite you to join in this evening of imaginal migration, poetry, song, story, and conversation.
The way depth storytelling goes, you’ll show up, make yourself comfortable, and listen to the story as though it is happening in your own heart, as though each of the characters and landscapes and symbols might be a part of you.
You’ll be invited to share in some quiet writing to harvest what the story offered you, and then to engage in conversation regarding the themes and meaning of the story as we heard it. I’ll offer journal prompts and questions to assist you in finding your own connections with the story. There is no pressure to participate and it is fine just to listen and absorb.
Some people listen to the stories in person, here in my Asheville office, and others gather from around the world via GoogleMeet.
All proceeds from each of these storytelling events go to a beneficiary that feels resonant with the themes of the story. Past recipients have been World Central Kitchen, RiverLink, Care International, expressive arts initiatives/ peace work in Gaza, and Foothills Conservancy. After we’ve heard the story, we will collectively decide upon a beneficiary for the evening’s donations.
Attendance is pay-what-you-can (suggested donation $20 to $40, but each participant is trusted to find the right amount. No one will be turned away).
Register by sending your chosen donation to either Paypal or Venmo with Children of Lir as the subject. Please please make sure that you also provide your email address (as a comment, or as part of the subject line) so I can be sure to send you further details about the event.
When I receive your registration, I’ll send you the link for the gathering if you are attending online and provide further details via email.
More about this project:
There are times lately that I have felt hopeless in the face of war, climate change, and human cruelty. I have learned, through my work and through the wisdom of my clients, that sometimes we are too small to hold sorrows this big. But when we let our sorrows rest on the broad back of a very old story, often, through the story, we can find the beginnings of a way forward.
So I turned to some of my favorite stories with my hopelessness and I listened. This is the project that emerged:
Over the course of 2024, I plan to tell eight stories, one for each of the equinoxes and solstices and the cross-quarter days in between. I plan to align each story with the season of its telling, and to gather donations that we as a community will offer back to the living world.
Three, as we know from fairy tales, is a powerful number. It’s usually the number of attempts it takes to get something right, and often it’s the number of magical tools or skills necessary to overcome the challenge at hand.
With this offering, I am hoping to build community in three ways:
Community between you and the story, which has things to tell you that I know nothing of.
Community between you, me, and the others gathered to hear the story, and the way the story weaves itself into the seasons of our year as a rich, shared metaphor.
Community between our little gathering and the wider world, as our donations weave us and our intentions into the fabric of the planet.
May we, by resting our sorrows on the broad backs of old stories, build a sense of community together, and alchemize hopelessness into loving action.