WHAT FAIRY STORIES?
4 Elementals Main Lesson – Life Sciences – Class 1
Once upon a time, it could have happened here, there, or anywhere, a Class 1 teacher in a Rudolf Steiner school sat in his study starting at a blank piece of white paper. The sun had just set over the distant, violet ranges, and the air was still – not so his soul.
The Teacher reflected on the task before him; to prepare a 3-week science main lesson for his lively 7-year-olds. As a morning main lesson, there had to be, even at this tender age, a certain ‘head’ focus – with plenty of academic-type activities like spelling and writing.
A science main lesson appeals to the forces of the physical body – in its higher sense, as an organ of warmth that is – the blueprint of corporeality; a supersensible matrix upon which all earth-incarnational requirements are built.
In the 3-fold division of the sciences into body/physics, soul/life sciences, and spirit/human sciences, this ‘Fairy Story’ main lesson was to be the ‘soul/live science’ unit for Class 1. It was to reveal the sublime mysteries of the Four Elementals.
The reason that The Teacher’s mood was gloomy, was that his head was in conflict with his heart – ‘Just tell them stories from the Brothers Grim.’ Some visiting European had gratuitously ‘counseled’. But The Teacher couldn’t reconcile what those dark, degenerate tales, told to adult peasants hundreds of years ago, had to do with the time and place in which dwell his sunny Southern Hemisphere children. He had already gone back to The Source, leapfrogging over decades of misinformed or mischievous corollary ‘Steiner’ literature; much of it inspired by the decadent European folk souls of one kind or another.
The Source? Why Rudolf Steiner’s own writings of course – no-where dud he fid in the original even the word ‘fairy’ (‘fee’); those singular elemental air beings who make themselves especially popular in Britain.
The recommendations from The Master were for inventive ‘marchen’ stories – stories of the folk, in a contemporary sense of course. This of course is hard, creativity always it. It also requires a fairly high degree of spiritual knowledge – available right here in Rudolf Steiner’s books!
Well, if the stories were to be of the folk, then they would have to contain content relating to the folk being taught – both in time and place – Australian children on the threshold of the 3rd Millennium!
No-where did The Teacher find Steiner – for use in schools anyway – recommending, Grimm. The idea abounds that these old tales contain spiritual archetypes, images necessary to resound in the soul of the child, so that his (unspecified) development can proceed – the ‘rites of passage’ to use the glib term.
This is unalloyed Jungian psychology; o mention of these hypothetical archetypes is found in Steiner’s work, certainly not in relation to children’s needs. Rather The Master refers us to spiritual reality, that which exists in, and is the power behind, all creation. It is this here-and-now, not some illusory and usually morally retarded ‘archetype’, that is soul food for the young.
But wait…Steiner does mention an archetype, describing the degeneration of the once-mighty Sphinx. Yes, it does still exist in the astral plane as a kind of ‘archetype’. It is now, or until recently, a chilling image known to European peasants (do they still have those?) who, under the influence of sunstroke, see her as ‘The Mid-day Woman’. The once-awesome Sphinx is now a hag of indescribable ugliness. So when thoughtless teachers invoke the Sphinx into their old imagery for children, they invite into the vulnerable souls this Mid-day Woman.
As a spiritual entity, like the Sphinx, advances through time, it sheds its detritus in the form of hideous astral phantoms; malevolent beings which hang around the fringes of human consciousness waiting to be unwittingly invited in. One way is on the medium of ancient, untransformed imagery.
Santa Clause, an Atlantean, was once a high being indeed, the God of Generosity even. He is now, by virtue of his success in the promotional strategies of department stores, the God of Greed – and often a pederast ass well!
Atlantis? Well the spirit of the story for 7-year-olds can remain Atlantean, but the images and ethics must be modern. Atlantean humanity had ready converse with the 4 elemental beings, but this was lost as we descended into the dark world of matter – dark in comparison with this old higher perception that is. 7-year-olds (7 is the number of Atlantis) are, in soul terms at least, recapitulating the great Atlantean Epoch. As such, they have an instinctive capacity to, inwardly at least, perceive the elementals – that’s why they unhesitatingly believe in them – unless some materialist has nailed their imagination to the floor by telling them that it’s all just ‘make believe’!
Man’s pineal gland was the spiritual organ of perception in Atlantis; as this withered, so did the capacity for natural clairvoyance. The door to higher vision was firmly closed – that which opened, was the clear-day consciousness of the pituitary gland – the apple!
Physiologists tell us that the present pineal gland is a curious organ; it is active in the child right up to the age of 7, then, for no apparent reason, enters a state of decline. The 7-year-old, with his dreamy pineal consciousness, is truly a little Atlantean, but one passing, through the atrium of formal learning, into the hard, bright world of pituitary conceptual life.
Anyway, The Teacher noted that these col-called ‘fairy’ stories, or folk tales, in whatever culture they’re found, are usually targeted at the 7-year-olds. By 8, there is already a post-Atlantean cynicism present. How negligent – reprehensible even – to allow a child to pass through this magical year without an imaginative introduction to their very own ‘folk’ – in the form of the specialized Elementals.
These being’s singular task is ordained by the unique natural phenomena in any area. A gnomic being will be different in a sandy region from one who (which?) lives amongst basalt ramparts.
The Teacher made a note that he would take the children out to imbibe the vivifying forces of various ‘sacred places’ – sites where the power of the Elementals is almost palpable. There could be ‘gnomes’ in the quarry; ‘undines’ in bubbling brooks; sylphs’ on wind-swept hilltops; and …well, the fire spirits, the ‘salamandas’, are a little more difficult to access – at a bonfire perhaps? An appropriate story should always precede these adventures, with almost no reference to it on site – the child takes it in on a more subtle level.
It’s not as if other relatively modern story-tellers have not felt the need to free themselves from the creatively corrupting influences of long-past imagery. Goethe’s The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily; Oscar Wilde’s Happy Prince; Kingsley’s The Water Babies; and Andersen’s poignant stories, like The Ugly Duckling, all speak out of the folk spirit in which they were created. Australia’s own Snugglepot and Cuddlepie, charming tales created by May Gibbs, is an original and largely accurate depiction of some of the Elemental forces working in parts of this country. That’s why they are so enjoyed by Aussie kids; they are our very own ‘folk’ tales – there is recognition of the supra-sensible reality of sandstone and gumnut in the child’s soul.
Even the names are typical of the Elementals (remember Raggedblossom). They are whimsical and pictorial, with the poetry of assonance and alliteration. These subtle gnomic gumnut babies are so different from their heavy-footed Northern European counterparts.
But being better-informed than May Gibbs, spiritually if not artistically, the Steiner teacher can create even richer stories. Atavistic souls even today can actually see, albeit involuntarily, the Elemental world. But to the modern see-er. These visions are the result of inner discipline of one kind or another – and hard work it is, often requiring sustained focus, the kind a teacher might have when seeking story inspiration!
Any gossipy-type betrayal of these secrets must, by logical extension, contain egotism – a condition inimical to the spiritual world in general, and the Elemental world in particular. The Master rarely revealed hisinvolvement in the spiritual world – say by telling us about his previous incarnations – or his ‘cruise up to Venus last night’! Rather he brought objective knowledge of higher worlds to earth.
The Elementals have no ego, therefore no self-consciousness; they only learn about their own being by listening to us tell stories about them! However they have great objective knowledge, especially of their own element. With gnomic (‘knowing’) beings, this is the mineral element; undines (to ‘undulate’), the liquid; sylphs, air and light – gas: and salamandas, warmth.
This dry listing sent The Teacher into dreamland. Stomp – stomp – stomp – little booted feet silently sounded (!) in the hall; they passed through the closed door and milled around the desk.
“Wake the snozeydozey up!” said an impatient voice “We haven’t got all evening.” This was indeed enough to wake The Teacher; at first he was afraid as de saw the circle of stern faces around him. He wanted to return to the sanctuary of sleep – or the ‘real’ world for that matter. But no, these Oreads, as the Greeks called them (Kg. oros – ‘mountain’), began prodding him.
“Come on elephant ears, we’ve a way to go!” With that they somehow pushed him out of the window, he fell, surprisingly lightly, onto the dew-wet grass. The full moon rode like a huge orange just above the eastern horizon. The little group – in both senses of the word! – set off.
Even though the Teacher lived in a benign sub-tropical climate, this winter night was chilly – but less so on the beach, where they stopped.
“What a shame,” the Teacher thought “I was getting to enjoy the pervasive march rhythm with which these small, purposeful beings swung along through, over, under, between, and toward their unseen goal. It’s all so satisfying in a Ho-Ho sort of way.”
“Who are you?” The Teacher said at last; they answered as one, in a kind of plodding chorus:
Oh fat head with the google eyes,
Questions! Answers! Wisdom flies
Out of his ears when he opens his mouth,
He wouldn’t know wet from cold from south.,
With human beings, as little gnomes knows,
The less they knows, the more they grows!!
Ha, ha, ha, – ho, ho, ho!
Many ‘folk’ have given us names,
Like Kobold, Goblin, Hob and Troll,
Gudemon, Kelpie, Glaistig, Doll…Doll?!
That’s not gnomic, that’s man-made – shame!
Then Leprechaun, Dwarf and Gremlin too – two – to!
That’s a conundrum – one drum – dumb drum
(Look at his fac, like pink bubble gum!)
Ha, ha, ha, – ho, ho, ho!
We’re the Family four, our stony homes
Are tetra too – plutonic; igneos; sedimentary;
metamorphic…we can’t rhyme a line with that!
A better word might be under his hat.
‘Cause he keeps his thoughts all in his head,
Like wearing your galoshes to bed!
Ha, ha, ha, – ho, ho, ho!
The moon had risen higher over the sea, its round face now a leprous white. The little men began to move around restlessly, their humor (‘If you could call it that!’ thought the slightly peeved Teacher) subsided. Then without warning, they picked up the hapless pedagogue, and threw him into the sea! They all then retreated from the beach, melted away really. All that is, except the sand gnomes – Klumpp and Sillika – they just slid down a crab hole!
Cold fear and colder water rendered The Teacher senseless for a few moments, as a strong, sucking current fragged him beyond the surf line. He struggled and gasped for breath – until he felt many soft, stroking hands supporting him. He couldn’t see the owners of the gentle but strong hands, but now and then a soft singing could be heard as, to his unutterable consternation, he was carried far out to sea.
The moon rose higher still, until at about mid-night, it stood directly overhead. It was only then that he saw the undines. Their language was not a rollicking doggerel, but lilting song:
Come, rest in the arms of the Blood of the World,
Seek and you’ll find – our secrets unfurled.
We live in the liquid, we swim on the swells,
In laminate leaves of water we dwell.
“Gosh! Who (or what) are you? You’re so, so beautiful!” exclaimed the deeply moved Teacher as he beheld the hosts of sinuous, utterly feminine beings swimming around him. And they were still stroking him, in a matter of fact, passionless but sensually satisfying way. Some trailed cool-toned diaphanous garments of spun peacock feathers; others had long, oh so long, silvery hair drifting around them. All were lovely:
We’re three-fold in being, we sing as we swim,
Mist, cloud, brook, and sea resounds in our hymn.
So, the mystery of the undine is 3-fold eh? As the Greeks tell us, there are salt-sea nymphs, the Nereids; those of fresh water – creek, spring and pond – the Naiads; and of course the dear little Nixies, they who drift in cloud, fog and other air-borne water.
“I’m going to give up teaching and live with these darling mermaids forever!” sang The Teacher, his heart filled, his soul massaged into a state of euphoria.
But as the moon proceeded westward, he gradually felt the gentle hands of the undines guiding him towards the east again’ ever eastward – why?! And the air had changed since he had been in the water, he was sure that he could smell, not Winter as before, but Autumn. The seasons were even in a time warp!
What was worse, as the first maiden’s blush of dawn appeared on the seamless horizon, he smelt Spring! Seamless? Not so – there was a small island dead ahead – or as he was to discover, ‘live’ ahead. The soft, supporting hands of the undines had withdrawn; only a bell-like after-tone reminded him that they had ever existed. So he had to swim the rest.
Tired, but otherwise in good shape, The Teacher walked up the beach to a welcome of rising sun and bird call. Then he saw lights in front of his eyes! He thought it was exertion, but when the lights spoke – in a high-pitched, excited tone – he knew he was neither going dotty, nor was he alone.
Soon these fairy-like beings, these sylphs, became quite visible, especially as the sun rose higher. Always moving they were, some darting in angular flight, others slowly – more butterfly-like. But all were lighter than down feathers. Their faces were angular too, with cheeky, pixie-type expressions – and they all had pointed ears!
These air sprites (‘sprite’ is a diminutive of ‘spirit’, a word meaning ‘to breathe’) were dressed in light; and their wings wee spun lumens. There was nothing more substantial than the glimmer and shine of sunlight sparkling on wind-blown leaves. All, like the undines, were girls. The Greeks called them Dryads, ‘tree beings’.
It was hard for The Teacher to understand what they were actually saying, or to follow any kind of conversation. In a sanguine kind of way, they always changed the subject after every line of their verse:
We sang through a thrush this morning –
We remember Morgan le Fay –
We live in two worlds –
Sphendamniad means ‘wedge being’ –
Morgan was the Fairy of the Morning –
Light-and-air Pixies wear pointed hats –
Angles of incidence…oh how happy we are!
As discursive as it was, The teacher got the general idea; but the best part was when he sprouted a pair of filamental wings, and gamboled in the clear morning light with his playful new friends. He found, like the other two Elementals, that these beings were not the air, or the light – but rather lived in, around and through these more materialized elements. They were not the matter, they were the processes.
The sun climbed higher, following the invisible path of the long-departed moon. It grew hotter, and more summery. The vivacity of the fairy games began to slow down. One by one these engaging spirits retired to rest among the shady trees – they seemed to just melt into leaf and truck, to become one with it.
The Teacher was alone again as the sun stood overhead – pitilessly hot. He walked up onto a treeless hill to get his bearings; the sun beat down on his bare head as he scanned the horizon…whooossshhh!
His heart leapt in terror as something shot past his head; like a wheel of fire it was! Again all was still, and very hot…whooossshhh…fffssshh…sszzzvvv. The still air seemed alove with invisible Catherine wheels; but as they always missed him, he began to take heart, and observe them more closely. Yes, he could see one coming – so fast, in a rolling motion…hhh – chchch – ssss! It missed his head by inches.
But this time he got a good look at it; like a flying, red head it was – round and inflamed, with a look of raw power – the Power of One! He assumed that this being was male; after all, how could one tell if it was only a head? But one could!
The fire being’s head was ringed in a collar of flames, with a kind of residual body trailing behind. He had met the salamandas.
This odd name was given to the last – or first – group of Elementals. Those most difficult of all to perceive due to their middle-day habits – the time of greatest earthly consciousness. Salamandas, the animals, are slow-moving amphibians, with large, round heads, a red, fleshy collar, and an insignificant body.
As there was nothing else with which the fire spirits could be compared by their early atavistic observers, salamanda had to do.
Naturally the fire spirits are more often seen in hot climates, like the Middle East, with its fire-bird legends – and tropical Australia, where lost Aborigines are led home by the Meenjins – fire beings serving a fire people. Sylphs are most often met in airy, temperate climates, like England – undines in water-loving, sub-tropical communities such as Polynesia – and gnomes in the colder climes, like Northern Europe.
“Tell me of your being?” The Teacher apostrophized to the hot ether; but there was no answer: these fire spirits didn’t converse with humans – they surely put on a fine fire display though, whooping and rolling in spectacular style.
One salamanda followed a bee, rolling like a red ball in its slipstream – till the insect alighted on a large Poinsettia flower. The little Fiery disappeared among the petals, enacting yet again the virgin deed of reproduction in the innocence of the plant world; providing the male-spirit element to the complementary female-earth.
In fact these Flying Fire Folk reminded him of standing near a bee hive at mid-day, when the eager workers shoot out on their important errands. In miniature, these bees, materialized, ball-round ‘salamandas’ that they are, speed towards one on a collision course – to zip past your ear! This is the nearest one gets to an experience of the salamandas without higher vision!
Because of this bee-salamanda-flower mystery, the Greeks called these fire beings meliades – ‘Honey Spirits’.
We are One – love the sun – at mid-day.
We are round – rarely found – so they say.
We are red – live in head – but can’t stay.
We are hot – fiery shot – ha-hoo-ray!!
We are free – ride on bee – on her way.
Their inflammable dance lasted through the hot hours, but as the sun began to wane, their frenetic corroboree waned also; the rolling grew slower, the ‘whooossshhes’ subsided – and it the cool of early evening, the salamanda, and the bees, were gone.
The Teacher wondered what he should do now; he felt so alone. Perhaps he should rest, have a little nap even. After all, it has been a big day. He sat down and rested his head on his knees – zzzzzzz …stomp – stomp – stomp…”What’s that?” He tried desperately to wake, to see the owners of these familiar footfalls – but he could not – zzzzzzz.
The room was quite dark as The Teacher woke, with only the light from a now high moon shining dimly on his desk. “I must have dozed off – not, this was different, not so much a dream as…?” Stomp – stomp – stomp –
“It wasn’t a dream, there’s that marching again, the little guys with the bad poetry. Hey, come back… it’s getting fainter, no, it’s gone.” He got up to make a cup of coffee, thinking about the difficulty of inspiring new ideas for modern story-writing as a whole, and for his 4 Elementals main lesson in particular When he returned, he fund his preparation sheet on the floor; when he picked it up he was surprise to see it covered with…great ideas!! – with kaleidoscopic, living pictures. And it was all in his own handwriting?! How so? Anyway, if he hasn’t gone off somewhere else, to do something else, then he’s probably writing new folk Tales for children even today.
Faerie Children
Who dares to disturb rock children at our work,
We stamp and stump and tramp and trump
Our task we never shirk
Marching in a single line, boots and helmets all a-shine,
Through mineral veins deep in the mine.
We are children of the moonbeams, meandering by;
Swimming in a sea from our moonship in the sky.
Lighting lilting paths of silver over dark clouds as we fly,
Stirring life in sleeping sees, surging ties from low to high.
Sunbeam children are we, dancing ‘mong the flowers;
Chasing sparklers of light
Through the shady, leafy bowers.
From the chariot of the sun,
With his world-warming powers,
We follow currents from the tropics
To the tall, ice towers.
We are Children of the Summer,
Of the ay so bright and hot.
Onn our anvil toiling – in our cauldron broiling –
Round our bonfire roiling – broiling …!!
If we want we’ll burn the lot – Yea!
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