Talking creates an illusion of life and duration - it makes one forget about transitoriness and in that way people seem to postpone death. Seneca said that life was short, art long-lasting, an opportunity quick, an attempt dangerous and that a decision was difficult. Man, finding himself trapped in that chaos, often wishes to run away into some other world, a world made of stories, fairy tales and myths about beautiful old times. Unable to confront the cruel reality, he starts believing in miracles. He searches his good fairies, looks for them in many awkward places, not knowing that the Golden Age is long gone. In ancient times, people were good, there was no sadness because fairies were helping them. Happiness came from the Gods of light and therefore from fairies because they were the goddesses of light. There was one heart unifying all the people's hearts, there was one will, one custom, one law - until they let the fairies down. Terrified and numb, they helplessly watched the saddest of all ruins in the world, the ruin of a man. The song ceased, guns started shooting and people went to war. According to the legends the unhappy fairies started wandering through the mountains and singing songs with the wind. They were trying to protect their mountain world from a man they trusted no more. If men went to pick herbs, they would throw them into the abyss from a cliff because they didn't want to share their power over herbs with others. Life of each fairy was connected with a certain tree, plant, mountain, spring, river or a lake. There wasn't a place they couldn't live in or build their fairy castles on: they lived in lower clouds and protected Perun, the god, inside thick treetops and in the sea, they fed on roe milk and rode deer. There were as many fairies as there were springs in the mountains. While they were residing there, the springs were inexhaustible and curable. They often chose caves for their home, and there only the chosen ones could see that wonderful another world and the beauty of their long undone hair. Before many visitors that world turned into a maze of rocks with no way out. Fairies loved music and hated noise. Because of the noise that civilization had brought into their castles they went to some quieter places. People drove them away with their constant comings and the destruction of their caves. The ones that lived in the springs, lakes and breams turned into swans, snakes and birds in order to hide from people. And then tireless hunters appeared from somewhere. What remained is only a story that some people still converse with good fairies. Some look for them in rare flowers, in the first dew, in marvelous circles of mushrooms that, according to the legend, grew in places where fairies once had danced. It is still believed that they could come back some day; maybe then when people finally take their garbage with them. What about the ruined caves, plants, springs, lakes and rivers? Will they come back, too?
When gone good fairies are forever lost, author Suzana Stojanović, 11.20.2007.
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Pričanjem se stvara iluzija života i trajanja - zaboravlja se na prolaznost i time kao da se odlaže smrt. Seneka je rekao da je život kratak, umetnost duga, prilika brza, pokušaj opasan, a odluka teška. Čovek, zatečen u celoj toj zbrci, često poželi da pobegne u neki drugi svet, svet satkan od priča, bajki i mitova o starim lepim vremenima. Nemoćan da se suprotstavi okrutnoj stvarnosti, on počinje da veruje u čuda. Traga za svojim dobrim vilama, traži ih na mnogim čudnim mestima, ne znajući da je Zlatno doba odavno prestalo. U davnim vremenima ljudi su bili dobri, tuge nije bilo jer su im vile pomagale. Sreća je dolazila od svetlih bogova, pa tako i od vila, jer su bile boginje svetla. Jedno je bilo srce svih ljudi, jedna volja, jedan običaj, jedan zakon - dok nisu izneverili vile. Nemoćno su, užasnute i zanemele, posmatrale najžalosniju od svih ruševina na svetu, ruševinu čoveka. Pesma je utihnula, puške su zapucale, narodi zaratili. Legende pripovedaju da su nesrećne vile počele da lutaju planinama i da pevaju pesme sa vetrovima. Pokušavale su da sačuvaju svoj planinski svet od čoveka kome više nisu verovale. Kada bi ljudi pošli brati lekovite trave, one bi ih bacale s litica u ponor, jer svoju moć nad lekovitim travama nisu želele da podele sa njima. Život svake od njih bio je vezan za određeno drvo, biljku, planinu, izvor, reku, jezero. Nije bilo mesta gde nisu mogle živeti i načiniti svoje vilinske dvorce: živele su u niskim oblacima i čuvale boga Peruna, po gustim krošnjama drveća i morima, hranile se mlekom košuta i jahale na jelenima. Koliko je bilo izvora u planini, toliko je bilo i vila. Dok su boravile na njima izvori su bili nepresušni i lekoviti. Za svoje domove često su odabirale pećine, u kojima su prekrasan drugi svet i lepotu njihovih dugih raspletenih kosa mogli videti samo odabrani. Pred većinom posetitelja taj svet pretvarao se u lavirint stena iz koga nema izlaza. Vile su volele muziku, a mrzele buku. Zbog buke koju je u njihove dvorce donela civilizacija otišle su u neke tiše krajeve. Oterali su ih ljudi svojim neprestanim dolascima i uništavanjem njihovih pećina. One koje su živele po izvorima, jezerima i potocima skrivajuci se pred ljudima pretvarale su se u labudove, zmije, ptice. A onda su se odnekud stvorili neumorni lovci. Ostala je samo priča da neki ljudi još uvek razgovaraju sa dobrim vilama. Neki ih traže u retkim cvetovima, u prvoj rosi, u čudesnim krugovima gljiva koji su po predanju izrasli na mestima gde su vile nekada plesale. I danas postoji verovanje da bi se jednom ipak mogle vratiti; možda onda kada ljudi konačno sa sobom odnesu svo svoje smeće. A uništene pećine, biljke, izvori, jezera, reke? Hoće li se oni vratiti?
Dobre vile odlaze samo jednom, autor Suzana Stojanović, 20.11.2007.
