by Katelyn S. Irons (Key~Magic~Stone)
“If only I knew how to make the music sound like when the elders play.” A young woman sat in the pure white sand turning over a wood carved flute. A voice startled her.
“If you knew how to make the music come alive as we do, then what would our lives be worth, Odessa?” A man came up beside her, his azure robes billowing in the breeze. He pointed out to the horizon, across the tranquil ocean. “Do you ever listen to the song of the sea?”
Odessa nodded. Her braids bounced against her tanned shoulders. “Yes, Alwan.”
“We elders are the sea. We are the great mighty waters which crash down on these beaches.” He said, demonstrating with his hands pounding into the delicate sand. “You, my child, are a blissful little dew drop sitting on a leaf. You have not lived long enough to know what I know, see what I have seen. Someday you will grow into a puddle then a calm lake. Then you will have enough to share the extent of your knowledge and drip, trickle, flow, rush into a stream which will grow into a river which will whoosh out to sea. Then you will be ready.”
“How does water make me ready to play the flute?”
“Odessa, you must learn, grow, splash in the sea and cry in the rain. You have life to live before you learn how to put magic into your music.”
“But, Alwan, that cannot be right. I play all of the sounds right. It just sounds different.” Odessa picked up a stone and flung it towards the sea.
“Child, that is what I am saying. Sometimes you can say something, write something, play something, but it will not be just right, because you have not lived enough to make it that way. The magic of the sounds comes from within. It does not matter how well you do it, it will never be quite right if you do not feel it. That is the key.”
“Right now I feel very troubled and confused.” She put her head in her hands. “How can I play my flute if all you say is true?”
“If you wish to play, then do not go on playing a happy tune. Play what you feel. Play what you know.” Alwan returned to the shade of the palms, leaving Odessa to ponder, turning the flute over in her hands.
To this day the islanders share the story of Odessa and Alwan with their children. They believe it is important to learn and grow at your own pace, for not all puddles are ready to be oceans.
“If only I knew how to make the music sound like when the elders play.” A young woman sat in the pure white sand turning over a wood carved flute. A voice startled her.
“If you knew how to make the music come alive as we do, then what would our lives be worth, Odessa?” A man came up beside her, his azure robes billowing in the breeze. He pointed out to the horizon, across the tranquil ocean. “Do you ever listen to the song of the sea?”
Odessa nodded. Her braids bounced against her tanned shoulders. “Yes, Alwan.”
“We elders are the sea. We are the great mighty waters which crash down on these beaches.” He said, demonstrating with his hands pounding into the delicate sand. “You, my child, are a blissful little dew drop sitting on a leaf. You have not lived long enough to know what I know, see what I have seen. Someday you will grow into a puddle then a calm lake. Then you will have enough to share the extent of your knowledge and drip, trickle, flow, rush into a stream which will grow into a river which will whoosh out to sea. Then you will be ready.”
“How does water make me ready to play the flute?”
“Odessa, you must learn, grow, splash in the sea and cry in the rain. You have life to live before you learn how to put magic into your music.”
“But, Alwan, that cannot be right. I play all of the sounds right. It just sounds different.” Odessa picked up a stone and flung it towards the sea.
“Child, that is what I am saying. Sometimes you can say something, write something, play something, but it will not be just right, because you have not lived enough to make it that way. The magic of the sounds comes from within. It does not matter how well you do it, it will never be quite right if you do not feel it. That is the key.”
“Right now I feel very troubled and confused.” She put her head in her hands. “How can I play my flute if all you say is true?”
“If you wish to play, then do not go on playing a happy tune. Play what you feel. Play what you know.” Alwan returned to the shade of the palms, leaving Odessa to ponder, turning the flute over in her hands.
To this day the islanders share the story of Odessa and Alwan with their children. They believe it is important to learn and grow at your own pace, for not all puddles are ready to be oceans.