day 8

An infinite Tale

Like all grey-beards in the woods, I have been a little girl; Like all little girls in the towns, an old woman. I have also known many little kids; Like them, I have been many stones. I have indefinite ways of being a fox; Likewise, a lamb. And they all like to say, "Why are you such a glutton?" Likewise, they also ask why my father is a fox, and my mother a man, who is also an old soldier, a schoolboy and a huntsman.

I owe this atrocious number of identities and variety of characters to the mere sum of one plus one.

And because I hardly count, I leave most of the counting to the smart brothers of mine, who are all aptly named Hans, Hans, Hans, Hans, Hans and Hans. One of them (I can't remember who) is Danish. Four were Skilful Brothers, and the last one is not even human. Together they can be known as the Six Servants, which Hans (I can't remember which one) once bragged about.

So between the dark hole (that is my tummy), and the big Forest that is the world, there lies an infinite number of possible ways to weave my identities into one coherent narrative.

There are 12 ways to be an Apostle. (Likewise, a Servant, a Huntsman or an Animal)

There are 11 ways to be boys and girls.

There are 10 ways to be stones.

There are 9 ways to be dead.

There are 8 ways to be the cupcakes.

There are 7 ways to be the flowers.

There are 6 ways to hate and love each other.

There are 5 ways to sing.

There are 4 ways to come back alive.

There are 3 ways to be Infinite.

There are 2 ways to be God or Devil.

And infinite ways to be The One. (Likewise, to be forgotten.)

 

And my story will always repeat and restart such that no one single story about me is the same.

My tale is done, there runs a mouse, whosoever catches it, may make himself a big fur cap out of it.

But remember to leave the door open.