Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are really princesses waiting to be saved; perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something that needs our love. (paraphrased from Rainer Maria Rilke)
. . .it is the suffering, crippled side of our personality which is both the dark shadow that won’t change and the gold hidden within us which can save us. (Liz Greene)
Once upon a time there was a psychologist who lived with her husband and an odd assortment of cats, dogs, goats, chickens, what-have-you, on a farm which bordered a place called Endless Caverns. Many of the people who would come to see her would remark on the strangeness of visiting a shrink at a place with that name — “Endless Caverns” — since so much of what they worked on in their therapy had to do with forays into the depths of their own personal underworld, which unfortunately can seem, especially in dark times, to have “no end.”
But that is another story. The story that we want to tell today has to do with a troll who lived in the deepest reaches of Endless Caverns. Now for those of you who don’t know, a troll is a mythical, cave-dwelling being who is typically a giant and who is said to have a very ugly appearance. This troll was a Rock Troll, and his name was Eddie. By nature, trolls are taciturn, solitary creatures, and Eddie had a reputation even among trolls of being a real loner. He lived in the darkness and never ventured out. He only fed on the darkest and hardest of rock. Light hurt his eyes, and crumbly limestone gave him indigestion.
But Eddie was as content as a troll can be, for his home in the depths of Endless Caverns was almost perfect. He was troubled only occasionally by far-away voices from the pesky tourists who were periodically led through the caves. At those times, he would fade deeper into the underground tunnels, muttering to himself.
Unbeknownst to the shrink and her husband, those underground tunnels formed a network of holes which reached far under their farm, and in his attempts to avoid the caverns tours, Eddie would often end up directly under their home, gnawing on hard rock in the darkness. At these times, only the cats could detect his silent presence, and they would cock their heads and widen their eyes and sniff curiously in the corners. Eddie smelled Old, and mysteriously Dark, and intriguingly like eels.
Curiosity is a powerful incentive, but most of the farm cats were sleek and lazy and well-fed. Eddie might smell interesting, but there was warm hay to nest in, and the gossip of mice and spiders to listen to. But once in a while, a cat who needed to explore every nook and cranny of the unknown, who wasn’t satisfied with only warmth and love and good food, would find its way to the farm, and for awhile these Cat Adventurers would be welcomed into the fold. Until, that is, the wanderlust would creep into the corners of their awareness, and slowly they would venture further and further away. Inevitably their adventurings would lead them to the holes leading into Eddie’s underground home.
As the story goes, the first time one of these critters found its way into the reaches of Eddie’s caverns, he was greatly taken aback. His eyes glinted red, and he ground his strong teeth in an alarming manner. The four-footed thing looked far too soft to eat, and far too self-possessed to be threatened by the likes of even something so threatening as Eddie. (He was unaware of how delightfully like eels he smelled). Eventually, as the occasional cat would wander into Eddie’s territory, he started to make them warm nests of straw on the rock ledges, for he found that of an evening, he loved to listen to their tales of life above ground.
For the cats, of course, as cats will, still ventured back to the surface, to catch mice, and to renew old acquaintances, and to bask in the sun. But the irresistible aroma of Eddie always drew them back to their straw ledges. Gradually their stories persuaded Eddie to make the awesome journey to the outside himself (which is also another story). And eventually, his fondness for his furry companions of the dark allowed him to be persuaded to go to a place about which they told him called Food Lion, which held the most remarkable delicacies, they said.
In the darkest part of the night, Eddie would steal into this place of the Food Lion, carefully choosing the items they requested. He himself was disgusted that nothing there even began to resemble the best smell of all, that of Cold Rock, but he was nevertheless willing to bring back to the caverns the godly nectars of tuna and Little Friskies, and even 9-Lives.
And with his strong, sharp teeth, he would rend the metal of the cans apart, and watch as his companions delicately gobbled the disgusting (to him) stuff which lay inside. Afterwards, when they had carefully cleaned themselves, they would always snuggle close to Eddie, and the sound of their low rhythmic snoring would warm even Eddie’s cold heart.
And so they live, the Cat Adventurers and the Rock Troll. The people on the surface at the farm mourned each cat’s disappearance, and sometimes, in the evening shadows, they would catch a glimpse of the strangest thing.
The moral of this story? Perhaps it is that underneath our places of everyday living, deep in the underground, deep within us, is where we find the best friends (or at least the most extraordinary), and the best places of all.