The fire in the hearth cast a soft glow across the darkened room. Wind hurled against door and pane as, in a voice older than night, she began her tale.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away and as near as your own heart, there lived a people who had lost their way. They had become enamored of things that did not serve them or aid in realizing the promise of their birth. Precious time was given to pursuits that did not feed souls. They called things important that were inconsequential. And those exceptional minds, capable of creating beauty and ingenious designs, forged discord instead.
Something had to be done, for they now careened all too closely to a precipice that could very well claim them. The Guardians, for all folk have them, watched and debated among themselves the level of intervention possible. There are, you see, clear rules as to the intercession allowed, for along with elegant brains, the people had been gifted the ability to choose, to determine for themselves how to proceed in any given situation.
This, as with all gifts, was sacred and could not be overruled. The statutes were quite clear on this point, allowing for soft incursions only. And so, prophets and teachers had been sent, and ream upon ream of sacred writings amassed. The people were indeed moved by the messages of the Wise Ones, but most forgot or never let the words root deeply into the soil of their being. And purest wisdom not deeply anchored and well~tended, swirls away with the first rising wind.
So it came to pass that another Council of Guardians was called, though those words are but a poor attempt to convey such a meeting in that time out of time, in a place that lies beyond our understanding of locale. Let us simply accept that such a meeting occurred. We are not, of course, privy to what transpired, nor would we be able to grasp the meaning of such words as were spoken there.
Still, we know this much. The gravity of the situation led the Guardians to find a new way to step forward in loving support of these endearing, but oh so young, souls. Free will could not be taken away, it is true. But they could devise an enchantment that would offer respite from all the busyness, allowing this bevy of souls the chance to choose with greater clarity.
And so the Guardians joined their considerable power into a potent incantation that cast a hush over this world, one that brought an outer stillness to encourage an inner one. In one household representative of them all, this was the result.
Silence fell and clocks paused in mid tick. While the woman could move freely, all activity around her ceased. Her partner sat rooted in place and their son's arm was poised in midair, action figure grasped in unmoving fingers. All was still. You might think this would be alarming, but it was not, for the magic was laced with calm. All was as a dream, sparkling with a vibrancy that soothed even as it buoyed and invigorated. And the power of this spell was such that the son saw his parents stilled, though he was not. Likewise for the woman's partner.
And across the land, in hamlet, village and city alike, it was the same. This conjuring was such that no one thought of doing mischief or frittering away this dream that was no dream. Like a bee to the fragrant nectar of a blooming flower, each being's attention was lured to the unique spark that was heart and soul. All attuned to who they could be, who they already were in their innermost selves. And for the duration of the enchantment, which felt like minutes to some, months to others, they remembered.
The old woman fell silent, though wind continued to wail and fire to crackle. As the minutes passed by, snow began falling gently upon the welcoming Earth. At last the man said, in a voice barely audible, "A fable for our time. As winter comes to the land, may it be a true one. May we be still...and remember."
Yes, as winter comes to the land, may we be still...and remember.
Leia
