Words are powerful. If you have any doubt, try beginning your next conversation with these four, "Once upon a time..." I've never used that phrase (in the context of a real conversation as opposed to a debate or lecture) that it didn't generate a small but palpable shift between myself and the others present. There is always a pause, a stirring of interest as ears perk up, and a soft settling in as everyone temporarily suspends disbelief and prepares to listen. It's as if those words unlock a door, give us access to a larger, more expansive, and collectively shared part of ourselves. "Once upon a time whispers along the warp and weave of our beings and prepares us to embark on a collective quest of self-discovery.
As a writer, storyteller, and preserver of stories it's my good fortune to begin a lot of conversations that way. It feels a bit like swinging my leg over the bare back of a semi-wild pony that's been breathing the scent of new spring grass. While I can do my best to direct the speed and general direction of our journey, control is not an option. It's up to me to hug the pony's barrel belly with my legs, snuggle in close to her sweaty neck, and whisper my words into her flicking ears. "Once upon a time...." I breathe, and we're off!
As I watched the first avatars arrive at Storybook Island to begin the Story Quest last Friday, I felt that same familiar pulse of excitement and anticipation. "I wonder what they'll make of the Quest?" I pondered aloud to the friend who'd graciously stayed up with me to mark the occasion. "Do you think they'll like it?"
"They'll make it their own," he replied, smiling at my nervous excitement. "And of course they'll like it. Who doesn't love a story?"
He was right of course. The results of the Quest, which are sitting on my desk beside me as I type, are proof of what I've know since I first set foot in Second Life - living a second life has a profound impact upon and has a lot to teach about the first. Moreover, we are embarking on new and largely uncharted territory here - swinging our legs over the bare backs of beasts that are not entirely tame or familiar, groping for words to describe experiences that have never been possible before.
Where will they take us? Who will we become as we role play, build, change our shapes, colors, sizes, and sexes? How will we apply what we learn about ourselves in virtual reality to our first lives? How can virtual experiences be used to enhance and perhaps even shape those in physical reality?
These were the kinds of questions I pondered as I designed the first Quest. They are also the ones that will inform and guide the Quests I plan for the future. Look for monthly Quests starting on May 1, and for new avenues to share your stories.
In the meantime I am delighted to report that both the closing ceremonies for and the stories submitted by participants in the Quest were a delight. The winners of the Quest will be congratulated in a separate ceremony on Saturday, April 1 (see posts to follow).
We have the following gifted storytellers, who shared their time and imaginative visions with us, to thank for the success of the closing ceremonies:
- Elegia Underwood, whose tale of how dragons came to be stirred a old memory in my bones. Perhaps I was a dragon in a former life?
- Clarissa Tolsen, whose account of having her shoulder torn open by a bear sent shivers down my spin.
- Rae Larkham, whose heroine had a most puzzling and rather chilling wish come true.
- Dulcie Mills, who entertained with tales of love from her virtual world romance, Cloudy Rainbow.
- Derry McMahon who donned bee attire and read E. B. White's hilarious poem, "Song of the Queen Bee."
I can't think of a better way to close this blog post than to share that E. B. White poem with you. And to quote Derry as she hurried off to her next storytelling engagement, "BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"
by
E. B. White
New Yorker Magazine 1945
"The breeding of the bee," says a United States Department
of Agriculture bulletin on artificial insemination, has
always been handicapped by the fact that the queen mates
in the air with whatever drone she encounters."
When the air is wine and the wind is free
and the morning sits on the lovely lea
and sunlight ripples on every tree
Then love-in-air is the thing for me
I'm a bee,
I'm a ravishing, rollicking, young queen bee,
That's me.
I wish to state that I think it's great,
Oh, it's simply rare in the upper air,
It's the place to pair
With a bee.
Let old geneticists plot and plan,
They're stuffy people, to a man;
Let gossips whisper behind their fan.
(Oh, she does?
Buzz, buzz, buzz!)
My nuptial flight is sheer delight;
I'm a giddy girl who likes to swirl,
To fly and soar
And fly some more,
I'm a bee.
And I wish to state that I'll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.
There's a kind of a wild and glad elation
In the natural way of insemination;
Who thinks that love is a handicap
Is a fuddydud and a common sap,
For I am a queen and I am a bee,
I'm devil-may-care and I'm fancy-free,
The test tube doesn't appeal to me,
Not me,
I'm a bee.
And I'm here to state that I'll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.
Mares and cows. by calculating,
Improve themselves with loveless mating,
Let groundlings breed in the modern fashion,
I'll stick to the air and the grand old passion;
I may be small and I'm just a bee
But I won't have science improving me,
Not me,
I'm a bee.
On a day that's fair with a wind that's free,
Any old drone is a lad for me.
I've no flair for love moderne,
It's far too studied, far too stern,
I'm just a bee---I'm wild, I'm free,
That's me.
I can't afford to be too choosy;
In every queen there's a touch of floozy,
And it's simply rare
In the upper air
And I wish to state
That I'll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.
Man is a fool for the latest movement,
He broods and broods on race improvement;
What boots it to improve a bee
If it means the end of ecstasy?
(He ought to be there
On a day that's fair,
Oh, it's simply rare.
For a bee.)
Man's so wise he is growing foolish,
Some of his schemes are downright ghoulish;
He owns a bomb that'll end creation
And he wants to change the sex relation,
He thinks that love is a handicap,
He's a fuddydud, he's a simple sap;
Man is a meddler, man's a boob,
He looks for love in the depths of a tube,
His restless mind is forever ranging,
He thinks he's advancing as long as he's changing,
He cracks the atom, he racks his skull,
Man is meddlesome, man is dull,
Man is busy instead of idle,
Man is alarmingly suicidal,
Me, I am a bee.
I am a bee and I simply love it,
I am a bee and I'm darn glad of it,
I am a bee, I know about love:
You go upstairs, you go above,
You do not pause to dine or sup,
The sky won't wait ---it's a long trip up;
You rise, you soar, you take the blue,
It's you and me, kid, me and you,
It's everything, it's the nearest drone,
It's never a thing that you find alone.
I'm a bee,
I'm free.
If any old farmer can keep and hive me,
Then any old drone may catch and wife me;
I'm sorry for creatures who cannot pair
On a gorgeous day in the upper air,
I'm sorry for cows that have to boast
Of affairs they've had by parcel post,
I'm sorry for a man with his plots and guile,
His test-tube manner, his test-tube smile;
I'll multiply and I'll increase
As I always have---by mere caprice;
For I am a queen and I am a bee,
I'm devil-may-care and I'm fancy-free,
Love-in-air is the thing for me,
Oh, it's simply rare
In the beautiful air,
And I wish to state
That I'll always mate
With whatever drone I encounter.
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