by
Linda Clay
(parts of the text
quoted with permission by Per Jespersen)
Chapter I
The Meeting
There was a very
old poet in an old house close to the forest. He has been writing for decades –
hundreds of stories for children, because he stayed a child all his life
through. How can one do that – I mean staying a child the whole life! Maybe we
all do that, while we simultaneously are not willing to recognise, that this is
the way it is.
He felt, that being
an adult is an illusion, and he had struggled against it every day by writing
for children. He felt, that adulthood did not allow us to use our fantasy. If
you do it, you are considered a fool, and he did not like that. Oh, it has been
a struggle – a whole lifetime.
When he fell asleep
at night, he saw all his figures from his tales flying around in his dreams –
and he dreamt happily, in fact – and he did not want to wake up, because the
children from his stories would be gone for a while. It was so troublesome. Do
you know, how it is? I do, because I know him, and I can see, how tough it is
to be him.
But there were
happy days. When children came to his house to hear him read, he changed and
looked so happy. I guess, that the child in him woke up, and he was allowed to
show, who he really was. That is the strange thing about adulthood, that many
children long for it without knowing, that being an adult is not pure
happiness. Adulthood is to play the role, people expect from you, and you
cannot be yourself. This is a pity.
Maybe this fact is
connected to civilization. To be civilized is to do, what you are expected to
do and not to be true to your own inner I. Maybe we have misunderstood
civilization. This is really peculiar.
The old poet never
talked about it. When I visited him, we talked about every day things. But
there were days, when he opened his door, saying, “Not to day! The story is
here, and I have to write!”
And he worked the
whole day and did not have time for a visit. The next day children poured to
his house to hear his new story.
How could they
know? I think, that I know: Intuition. This is a strange thing – feeling about
things, that have happened or could happen. Maybe intuition is a very important
concept. But is it civilized? Or does it only belong to childhood? This is
difficult.
But the children
were so happy to listen to the old poet’s new story, and they clapped their
hands, hugged him, and said, “This story has to go on. You cannot stop here!”
Oh, the old poet
smiled his happy smile. “Do you want the story to go on?”
“Oh yes,” the
children answered in chorus. “We want to know, how Mark and Deena will
develop.”
And they talked for
hours, discussing the situation, Mark and Deena were in. The children had
suggestions, and it warmed the old poet’s heart. They saw depths in his story,
he had not seen himself. It is really wonderful, that children are so profound
in their thinking. It is part of childhood and gets lost in adulthood. The old
poet’s imagination gained new power through the talks with the children. I
guess, that one can only write stories for children, when one’s imagination
gets profundity from children. This is so marvellous.
The poet was
writing the rest of the day, of course. He sent his two figures, Mark and
Deena, to a new place. But he had to finish before late afternoon.
You see, this old
poet still had a kind of job. He had meetings in the evenings with children,
who had reading difficulties. Every evening he was sitting with a boy or a girl
in a special room, talking with the child, reading stories and training the
reading abilities.
He liked that job
of his – and the children loved to visit him. He always felt so sorry for
children, when he saw them struggle to learn the reading. But he had found a
new way to teach. His own, in fact. That is a strange thing, because he did not
know anything about pedagogics. He just loved children and their way of
thinking, because he was a child himself.
Little did he know,
that this evening would change his world. A new boy would come, and he was
always a little tense, when a new child came to his house. What kind of child
would it be – what would his task be – could he help the new boy?
So he was unable to
finish his new story. Mark and Deena found themselves stuck in problems, and he
did not know how to solve them for them. The two children had some emotional
problems, and it was not easy for them at all.
Then he heard the bell and opened the door. A new boy, whom he did not know, was there, and a few minutes later he was sitting with him in the special room. It was the children’s room – no adults allowed in. The children have told him, that this was a sacred room. It had to stay forever. A little part of their souls was left in there for the next child to pick up.
The new boy Lucas
told the old poet about his problems, and he was listening and tried to figure
out what kind of personality, he was confronted with this time. That was his
way of magic -- I cannot explain it, but I know it happened.
While Lucas was
talking, the old poet’s mind worked intuitively, and suddenly he could see the
world from Lucas’ point of view. He was looking into his magic black eyes and
saw a burning light there – the star of boyhood and a joy with life. It warmed
his heart, and he fell in spiritual love with the soul he was allowed to meet.
Soon they were
involved in a discussion about emotions.
“You cannot control
your feelings, can you,” Lucas asked with burning eyes.
“What do you
think?”
“Well, I can’t. But
I guess, adults can. That’s the way they look.”
“Illusion,” the old
poet said. “I think, it’s a disguise.”
“Can you control
your emotions,” Lucas continued.
“No, not even in
this very minute.”
“Neither can I.“
Lucas’ eyes glowed again. “Maybe we’re left on our own with our emotions”
“Strange, isn’t
it.” The old poet’s heart felt pity with Lucas, and he could not hide it. Then
Lucas spoke: “I would like to be in full control. Sometimes feelings pop up in
my mind, that I don’t like, and I fight against them to make them disappear.
This fight can go on for a whole day, and I have strange dreams the next night.
So my mind is working 24 hours a day. I hate it – but for some reason I love
it, too. Maybe this is the only way to grow mature. But then I think, that I
don’t want to be mature. I want to stay a child all my life, and yet live an
adult life.”
Words of wisdom,
and the old poet’s heart is almost melting. How can such a young boy have these
thoughts? And why can he not read, when he has such a potential?
“Why don’t we write
a story together,” he suggests.
“Oh, that would be
wonderful. I should like that. Stories is the best way to comprehend.”
Oh, what a boy! He
was sitting there in front of the old poet in all his magic innocence, speaking
words of wisdom. The old poet thanked The Good Lord for sending Lucas to him.
“So, when I come
next time, we’ll make our story,” Lucas asked.
“I cannot wait,”
the old poet said. “And you’ll learn to read.”
“I want it. I love
science, you know. But the texts are too difficult. Can you help me?”
“Sure. We’ll do it
together. See you in a week.”
And they left the
room hand in hand. Two souls have finally met. And the beginning of the story
was almost there.
