The Boy and His Frog
In the middle of a drowsy grotto a frog sits, occasionally croaking, looking at a boy who stares back. The frog is cloaked in a mysterious, pulsating field. The boy is compelled to go near but is held in the grip of disallowance.
The boy is guarded by a man who wrings his hands and measures and counts imaginary risks. The man hems and haws and his art is the creation of reasons to pause and delay.
He has surrounded himself with councilors of fear skilled in the jargons of affect which disable movement. He is wracked with constant noise and frozen with indecision.
The boy is infected by this malady and is likewise unsure. The stink of no-further reeks over both of them like a stagnant bog. But the memory of a child is short and the boy quickly forgets the stupidity of fear and focuses on the frog.
“Jump!”, he shouts and the frog eagerly hops.
Out of the corner of his eye the man catches this interplay and for reasons mysterious remembers a glimmer of the way of things. The field of worry drops during the moment of the frog’s leap and his chattering councilors are revealed in wraith-like form.
The man feels a love for the boy and it warms him, the toehold of a clearing opens near his heart. Love aches across his worried body and the pain of it enrages him. A fire of longing and regret of missed joys and confounded play clears his vision.
The boy dances a jig and laughs turning to the man, “did you see?!”
“I saw and I see you and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, can we play now?”
“We can.”
This simple formula of relation hooks their souls into one another and the man feels the kindled fire of the bond. A resolve speaks through him to tend this tether with the ferocity of one remembering the gift of unobstructed spirit.
To the boy, “give me a minute to get out of my work clothes?”
Eager to play, “Hurry up!’
“I’m going!”, and he goes. First to the council. “You are all redundant. You have two choices. End your work and retire into the flow of elements or heed a role which has always called to you and serve me by donning it. You are loved… now choose.”
Leaving the councilors to their choices he takes himself away to a nearby brazier. Here he fishes from the pockets of his kit totems of memory shepherded through his life’s journey. Each represents a bond formed with person or place. He sets these carefully in a pile and looks upon them and sees most have turned inert, the spark that imbued them with meaning having dimmed and faded.
A great welling of loss rises within and he gives over to the ocean of feeling as its waves of memory crash through him. After a time, the storm abates and having remembered and let gone he holds to his breast a single crystal from his pile and imbues it with the sea dance of sadness and joy. This he sets aside for safekeeping and buries the rest of his dead totems in the earth at the foot of the brazier.
Feeling the momentum of release he casts off and into the brazier’s fire the armor and weapons which marked his former office. The sweat and scars of a previous life’s battles mark their surfaces and whisper of deeds lost to time. He thanks them for their service and silently honors the craft of their making as the fire does its work.
Garbed now in simple tunic and trousers he strips these too and offers the fundaments of his protection to the fire. His skin bared to the wind feels pink and alive in its naked vulnerability.
Seized by a sudden need to bathe he clasps, in his left hand, the crystal and moves to the stream down the grassy slope from the brazier. Plunging into its shimmering waters a flow of light and dark energies pull and reform the tides within him, cleansing and opening his constricted soul.
After a time of soaking he climbs refreshed and naked from the water and up the slope to the fire. Peering into the flames he sees a dagger cooling in their flickering midst. Instinct takes him and he reaches into the blaze and finds it does not burn him and so he grasps the dagger and pulls it free. It is a work of intricate and balanced beauty and it speaks to him in the tones of an old and trusted friend. Upon its hilt sits an empty space in the shape of a crystal and his left hand places the totem of remembrance into its new home.
So done he feels a thrum of motivated purpose flow through his veins and across his being. Renewed he looks upon his naked body and laughing imagines himself a set of clothes in a durable fabric of white, hanging loosely to allow for fluid movement of limb and cut so as to compliment his form. Draped across his hips a belt adorned with pockets for items of utility and a sheath for his sharp new friend.
Setting the blade into its perch he thanks the elements for their gifts of unburdening and strolls back to the boy and the frog.
“Took you long enough. You look happier.”
“Yeah, thanks for waiting. I feel much better. What’ve you been up to?”
“Check it out!” The boy takes up a stance like a conductor and motions to the frog. The frog, in turn, straightens and puffs out its chest. The boy moves his hands through the air gracefully and the frog dances in time, shifting nimbly through elegant pirouettes and the fluid katas of an invented martial art.
The routine ends and the boy beams up, “Cool, huh?!”
The man laughs, “very cool, indeed”, “I have an idea, do you mind if I try something?”
“Go for it!”
The man motions to the frog and its attention flicks to him. He nods and says, “where would you like to take us?” Something like delight flashes across the creature’s eyes and with a ribbit it bounds off.
The man grins and shouts, “follow that frog!” He and the boy give chase. The frog takes them through the country side, through glen, across field, past villages, and finally deep into an old wood where a sunlit clearing dotted with wildflowers buzzes with the happy work of industrious bees.
With a croak which sounds like, “HERE”, the frog plants itself in the middle of the clearing and waits.
Flush and happy from movement of limb across pleasing landscape, the boy looks to the man and says, “I think I know what to do.” Moving his hands out in front of him he creates a rectangle with the thumb and forefinger of each and squinting through the frame moves his hands apart as if zooming in. The frog blinks and tracking the motion of his arms expands to the size of a house. It emits a satisfied croak which rumbles through the man’s chest pleasingly. The boy punches the air and hoots, “I knew it!”
Patting the boy on the back the man chuckles, “now my turn.” To the frog he bows, “you have guided us to ourselves and we are here with you now, limbered with the joy of freedom. We ask you to point us toward our destiny.”
With a twinkle of recognition the great frog’s eyes meet the man’s and a moment of knowing as long as an era passes between them. Slowly at first and then all at once, the frog opens its enormous mouth and presents within a swirling shimmering field dancing with images of other worlds. From the roof of its maw a wooden sign swings down, upon it emblazoned an ancient rune which reads, “GATE”.
The boy looks to the man mouth hung open in awe, “soooo coooool!” The man, likewise awed, nods agreement, “It’s an aspiration gate. Rare and beautiful. Those who find themselves at its threshold can speak an image of their desired future and if this image should be true to their destiny stepping through the gate will set them on the path to living the image into being.”
Eyes wide with excitement and cautious with his words, the boy whispers, “what should we say?”
Proud of the boy, “It’s wise to be careful with your words. Let us agree to drop into our imagination and listen to what calls, setting aside silly dreams and small desires and allowing ourselves to imagine a world which challenges and excites us.”
So the boy and the man sit upon the ground and begin to weave a vision of a world which would compel them into fuller versions of themselves. With games of real stakes, relationships of great import, and challenges and obstacles which would form them through painting with the full palette of emotion. They set their aspirations and agree to support one another and to seek aide from allies and to ally others in turn and in this forming of intention they stabilize the image in the mouth of the great frog.
The time comes when they can imagine no further and can remove nothing more from their vision and the gate beckons with shimmering figures and symbols which speak to their aspiration, inviting them forward in a hug of becoming.
The boy looks to the man, “i’m excited and afraid.”
The man looks to the boy, “me too. shall we go anyway?”
With a quick nod they both stand, the man places his arm upon the boy’s shoulder and side by side they step across the gate’s threshold into the first trial of their imagined world.
It’s summer in Austin and I’ve been splitting my time between playing at story writing, working with Kristen on inviting our experience design studio, Choicing Down, into the world, and practicing on-camera monologuing about topics which tickle my interest (like this one on the practice of Active Imagination 👇).
It’s a time of externalizing work I’ve shied away from sharing and agreeing with myself, after a sensible yet frustrating, amount of avoidance, to step in new and uncertain roles.
Remembering: it takes longer than you think, set daily intentions and stick to them, and if a frog opens a mouth portal, dive through it.
🐸🌀
Hope you’re well!