~ When gone good fairies are forever lost ~

Talking creates an illusion of life and duration. It makes one forget about transience 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 forever lost 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 and that gone good fairies are forever lost. 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. They were hiding them in their secret gardens. 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. That world turned into a maze of rocks with no way out before many visitors. Fairies loved music and hated noise. They went to some quieter places because of the noise that civilization had brought into their castles. 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, November 20, 2007