Sunday, January 25, 2009


There is an art to having hands that hold.

A Classic Fairy Tale

The Frog Prince

In olden times when wishing still helped one, there lived a king with a beautiful daughter. Close by the king's castle lay a great dark forest, and under an old lime-tree in the forest was a well, and when the day was very warm, the princess went out into the forest and sat down by the side of the cool fountain, and when she was bored she took a golden ball, and threw it up on high and caught it, and this ball was her favorite play thing.

Now it so happened that on one occasion the princess's golden ball did not fall into the little hand which she was holding up for it, but on to the ground beyond, and rolled straight into the water. The king's daughter followed it with her eyes, but it vanished, and the well was deep, so deep that the bottom could not be seen. At this she began to cry, and cried louder and louder, and could not be comforted. And as she thus lamented someone said to her, "What ails you, king's daughter? You weep so that even a stone would show pity."

She looked round to the side from whence the voice came, and saw a frog stretching forth its big, ugly head from the water. "Ah, old water-splasher, is it you," she said, "I am weeping for my golden ball, which has fallen into the well." "Be quiet, and do not weep," answered the frog, "I can help you, but what will you give me if I bring your play thing up again?" "Whatever you will have, dear frog," said she, "My clothes, my pearls and jewels, and even the golden crown which I am wearing." The frog answered, "I do not care for your clothes, your pearls and jewels, nor for your golden crown, but if you will love me and let me be your companion and play-fellow, and sit by you at your little table, and eat off your little golden plate, and drink out of your little cup, and sleep in your little bed - if you will promise me this I will go down below, and bring you your golden ball up again."

"Oh yes," said she, "I promise you all you wish, if you will but bring me my ball back again." But she thought, "How the silly frog does talk. All he does is to sit in the water with the other frogs, and croak. He can be no companion to any human being."

But the frog when he had received this promise, put his head into the water and sank down; and in a short while came swimmming up again with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the grass. The king's daughter was delighted to see her pretty play thing once more, and picked it up, and ran away with it. "Wait, wait," said the frog. "Take me with you. I can't run as you can." But what did it avail him to scream his croak, croak, after her, as loudly as he could. She did not listen to it, but ran home and soon forgot the poor frog, who was forced to go back into his well again.

The next day when she had seated herself at table with the king and all the courtiers, and was eating from her little golden plate, something came creeping splish splash, splish splash, up the marble staircase, and when it had got to the top, it knocked at the door and cried, "Princess, youngest princess, open the door for me." She ran to see who was outside, but when she opened the door, there sat the frog in front of it. Then she slammed the door to, in great haste, sat down to dinner again, and was quite frightened. The king saw plainly that her heart was beating violently, and said, "My child, what are you so afraid of? Is there perchance a giant outside who wants to carry you away?"

"Ah, no," replied she. "It is no giant but a disgusting frog."

"What does a frog want with you?"

"Ah, dear father, yesterday as I was in the forest sitting by the well, playing, my golden ball fell into the water. And because I cried so, the frog brought it out again for me, and because he so insisted, I promised him he should be my companion, but I never thought he would be able to come out of his water. And now he is outside there, and wants to come in to me."

In the meantime it knocked a second time, and cried, "Princess, youngest princess, open the door for me, do you not know what you said to me yesterday by the cool waters of the well. Princess, youngest princess, open the door for me."

Then said the king, "That which you have promised must you perform. Go and let him in." She went and opened the door, and the frog hopped in and followed her, step by step, to her chair. There he sat and cried, "Lift me up beside you." She delayed, until at last the king commanded her to do it. Once the frog was on the chair he wanted to be on the table, and when he was on the table he said, "Now, push your little golden plate nearer to me that we may eat together." She did this, but it was easy to see that she did not do it willingly. The frog enjoyed what he ate, but almost every mouthful she took choked her. At length he said, "I have eaten and am satisfied, now I am tired, carry me into your little room and make your little silken bed ready, and we will both lie down and go to sleep."

The king's daughter began to cry, for she was afraid of the cold frog which she did not like to touch, and which was now to sleep in her pretty, clean little bed. But the king grew angry and said, "He who helped you when you were in trouble ought not afterwards to be despised by you." So she took hold of the frog with two fingers, carried him upstairs, and put him in a corner, but when she was in bed he crept to her and said, "I am tired, I want to sleep as well as you, lift me up or I will tell your father." At this she was terribly angry, and took him up and threw him with all her might against the wall. "Now, will you be quiet, odious frog," said she. But when he fell down he was no frog but a king's son with kind and beautiful eyes. He by her father's will was now her dear companion and husband. Then he told her how he had been bewitched by a wicked witch, and how no one could have delivered him from the well but herself, and that tomorrow they would go together into his kingdom.

Then they went to sleep, and the next morning when the sun awoke them, a carriage came driving up with eight white horses, which had white ostrich feathers on their heads, and were harnessed with golden chains, and behind stood the young king's servant Faithful Henry. Henry helped them both in, and drove them away to the young prince's kingdom.

The Witch was Not Burnt

I had a dream last night. I was a witch who was tied to a stake. It was dark, and very, very quiet, but I was not afraid. Someone else was there. I don't know who they were, they were in the shadow. I was untied, taken by the hand and led to a well. A magic well. Where I drank some water and the saw the reflection of my face in the moonlight.

the seed of the tree of life

one original cell.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Letting go

In October 2008, someone died. She was a friend of mine who had danced with me for many years. At the time I wanted to do a blog entry about her, but I wasn't quite sure what to say.

Before she died, I had visited her at the hospital and given her the link to Bloom but she didn't get to see it. We had talked about all the issues I was whinging about as a post-feminist and as I left, she laughed and her last words were 'Go Forth Warrior Woman!'.

I will admit that despite my respect and compassion for this woman in her dying days inside a rebellious part of me thinking 'oh please not that agro thing again, I can't take it' - like others I had come to see the feminist era in a negative way.

She was born the same year as my mother, had grown up in working class London and became the first literate and educated woman in her family. In Australia, she was a feminist leader in Melbourne, writing the women's studies course in a prominent university and fighting for women's right's all of her life. She was a freedom fighter, a humanitarian and she wore her working class roots like a shield upon her chest. Even at her funeral, she was still fighting - she had requested the feminist flag be draped over her coffin, and was carried in by the core women in her life.

The last thing she had to say to me about feminism was that she was disappointed. She had chosen to have the feminist flag at her funeral because she was not ashamed. A few months before she died she had written to the Australian government requesting that all feminists be acknowledged for what they sacrified and fought for. She declared that active feminists of her era needed to be acknowledged for what they achieved for this country, the way that men of war are. That the image of feminism in the media, politics and academics needed to be respected, as a stage of asserting feminine leadership, not seen as angry man-hating women.

Anyway, in 2009 I thank her.

Thank you.

Thank you for helping me to understand post-feminism. I respect you and all the women like you that have created the freedom we have today. I understand that you had to fight, that you had to shout to be heard and rebel against the laws of this country.

And in your honour I shed my anger of post-feminism confusion, and wish to let my feminine be.

2008 A Post Feminist Spoke Out

The image of the 2008 bloom blog.

Bloom - You Can Have it All
A Post Feminist Speaks Out
A post feminist belly dancer who explored advertising & media communications alongside the mythic realm of fairytale, story & symbolism.
This blog sets up The Temple of Bloom - An inner flowering of femininity.

It was time for the bloom blog to evolve, goodbye 2008 and hello 2009.