All that glitters

All the gold coins in the world couldn’t fill that little purse.

Faded grey velvet lined with burgundy, the faint odour of myrrh and old metal, a gold twisted drawstring finished with a single gold bead.

Seemingly compact. One little morsel of life that would fit neatly in your pocket or palm. Perhaps. Or not.

Seemingly light. Light enough.

To throw over a flippant shoulder.

To lose during a sneeze.

To fall upways at the slightest ascent. Every ascent.

Light. But heavy. Heavy with purpose.

But even heavier with the weight of memory.

Heavy with the weight of patterns. Of conditioning.

Heavy with the weight of the known world. Full of what it had to do.

Full of so much of the outside world it was empty.

There was no space between the coins for it to hold any of its own thoughts. Every time it tried to move the ‘treasures’ would clang and and scrape against each other, drowning out any of its own voice. When it tried to talk the coins would bang and yell over the top of it. Even when it relaxed the noise of those damn coins moved against each other in a seething uncomfortable grind.

So it didn’t try to move, or even to relax. It stayed still and frozen. Trying to hear itself think over the clamour. And yet more coins poured in. A seeming abyss with endless space inside. Constantly filling, yet never becoming full.

Then it happened one day that an unusual coin fell in amongst the shiny gold ones. Black like charcoal, but smoother like crayon. And as this black disc fell into the growing pile it rubbed against the other coins, covering them in a dark powdery coating. They dulled.

The purse gained confidence in this, and began to wriggle. The more it moved the more the coins became dark and quiet. So quiet they began to expand, into each other. And in that expanded space without the noise of glitter and sparkle they began to fill gently the sides of the purse until it fell to a still, full, calmness it had never experienced before.

And from this space, it found ease, and finally a gently satisfied rest.

Written by Tjoni Johansen 

Copyright 2017 all rights reserved

Please feel free to share amongst your networks in full including the authors name and this website address.

Please gain permission from the author before copying any part of this work.

If you are interested in having Tjoni Johansen write a personal dreamscape or myth for your self or a project please get in touch via . Many thanks.

Back to Short Stories