The Spoonmaker's Daughter

& the dragon at the root of the world

“The Fisherwoman,” by Odilon Redon 1900

In the midst of so many devastating conflagrations in the world right now, met by such collective courage and heart and beauty of soul by so many— the Madleen flotilla, sailing right into the jaws of Israel to attempt to bring aid and hope to Gazans, named so aptly for the woman of Magdala, Magdalene herself who did not leave the foot of the cross, nor tomb of Jesus, and all that their actions have inspired; the No Kings protests across the United States yesterday (I had to drive about an hour from south to north yesterday and every freeway overpass I passed under was full of brilliant signs and flags and people marching in peaceful solidarity, and needless to say I was honking out my solidarity with them all along the 101 until I reached my destination); my dear friend’s partner’s family sheltering just outside of Tel Aviv from Iranian bombs (which yes Israel absolutely provoked, but it is so important to remember that the people who live in a country are not always to blame for the actions of their government, as is so abundantly clear here, and in Israel too, where so many fierce good souls are also marching in protest of their horrific leaders and the ongoing genocide in Gaza)— I am at somewhat of a loss for words, both out of dread and out of awe.

We as a species have the capacity for such unbelievable brutality and depravity, and at once the capacity for courage and love beyond saying. I feel myself swinging somewhat wildly these days between hopelessness and an ever strengthening, hope-filled conviction that there really is nothing left to do but love so bravely and honestly and give even more from the deepest truest parts of ourselves, to each other and to this Earth, than we ever, ever have before.

I also find that attending to crafts with my hands (I’ve been hand-spinning and weaving at a lap-loom like a fiend) while listening to stories read aloud, is reminding me how to be at home in my humanness, and is keeping me closer to the rotations of the Earth and her plants and animals and seasons, and therefore to reality (a precious feeling in these AI infiltrated times).

And so on that note, I would like to share a story with you all today, read aloud, in case you too need to take half an hour in the midst of so much on fire, and come into the rhythm of a tale.

It’s a story I wrote some years ago, and it’s called “The Spoonmaker’s Daughter.” This piece was the one and only time I ever wrote a commissioned story for someone, a kind of story-medicine based on plants and animals she loved, a precious spoon that once belonged to her grandmother, and her deep-hearted queries. It was a beautiful process, but so difficult to monetize, I realized after, that I haven’t done it since.

But the story that emerged remains precious to me, and I believe that the longings and healing called forth by the woman who commissioned it were mirrors to my own, which is why I could even write this piece at all. It was a kind of mutual healing. When I revisit it, it still surprises me and delights me and gives me hope. It’s the story, you see, about a young woman finding her voice, and standing up for the dragon at the tree of life, when the violence of the world has all but poisoned the well itself at the root of that tree. And there’s even a little romance too! (We all need a love story with a good ending these days, don’t we? I’ve never stopped needing such stories, since I was about 6 :) )

Without further ado, here is the telling.

May it find you well, and safe, and loved, and may these words also be an invocation for All Beings to be held in safety, love, and peace.

(Cretan lute at the beginning and end of this recording are by Giannis Linardakis, sound editing by my brother Simon Linsteadt)