The Little Red Shoes

When I was a little girl I had many dreams. First and foremost, I wanted to be a ballerina.


I don't know where the love of ballet came from, to begin with... but I do remember a moment in time when it was, perhaps, my chance to own the Dream... and in that moment, I let the Dream pass me by. I think we often have defining moments in our lives... places in our lives where we take a turn... or don't... and nothing is ever the same. My deceased husband called such a moment the Blue Line. It would seem we have many blue lines in our lives. He had a defining moment, in his own life, when he felt he, "got off the blue line." For himself, he identified, it would be when he sunk a guitar in the bathtub. Not his bathtub, not his guitar...*sigh*... and, in return for this dastardly deed... which he had no clue why he did, anyways... he was forced to give up the his father's guitar... one that had been left for him, when his father died, unexpectedly, while he was at a very tender young age. My husband loved guitar. But he would never become renowned in that talent, instead, taking on a variety of life's events. He was, however, quite talented in that place, and I found great pleasure in hearing him play. Later, in his ponderings, the memory of that deed would come to surface, and lead him to believe in the massive strength of events, as powerfully defining moments.

I could be wrong. Perhaps the moment that passed me by was not a Blue Line, afterall. My mother says I didn't get to take ballet because we couldn't afford the lessons. Maybe fate was not involved, at all, and no matter what transpired in that one moment in time, perhaps I still would not have become a ballerina.

At a tender young age, a ballerina was, in my young eyes, a Majical thing to be. And I believed in Majic. To Dance across the floor, with StarDust in my eyes... all a-glitter, all a-glow, it's what I Dreamed to be. Again, I don't know where the dream began. Perhaps a Christmas showing of The Nutcracker, on the tele, who knows. But, let me not tarry there, let me get to the spot where I met my fate... and chose another door.

It was a puppet show version of Hans Christian Anderson's The Red Shoes, at the local theater, entitled The Little Red Shoes. My mother took me there, and it is significant to me, now, that my sister was not present, though I do not know where she could have been. Although she is five years older than myself, it would seemed unusual that the puppet show might've been on a week day, when she might've been at school. And it would seem unusual that she wouldn't have been with us, on any given weekend. All the same, she does not remember the event. It would seem, then, that the event was all about myself and my mom... and our connection, however strong or weak it might've been. At the age of 5, she was my support system, and I counted on her.

It was only a few years back, when during the course of a 2 1/2 year hiatus from working, while with my ex-husband, on an oveseas tour, in Europe, that I engaged in a spiritual sabbatical, of sorts... and began an in depth journey, remembering many things, and piecing together all the lose ends of my life. Funny the things one can remember, when all engery is focused on putting the puzzle together. But, in the remembering, we then have to make sense of the strands. And funny how some things lay submerged for such great lengths of time... and weird how it felt remembering them... those things having taken on an entirely different meaning, in the remembering, from when the events first occurred. Yet, there was a vivid connection with what had transpired, as the memories unfolded.

I don't remember very much about the actual puppet show, there are vague images in my mind. I do remember that it was about a little girl who wanted to be a ballerina. I do remember that a pair of little red ballerina slippers was given away at the end of the show, a little girl chosen, from the audience. And guess who that little girl was? That's right, it was me.

I can still see the man standing on the stage, searching out across the vast room that was filled with many angelic and eager faces. I vividly recall wishing and hoping, with all my might, that he would choose me, as my blue eyes peered out from my over-sized seat, about half way back, on the right side of the room. I suppose that might be the first time that it was shown to me that a pure Heart, with great intent, can obtain what it might desire. It might also have been the first time that it was shown to me that when the door opens, we must have the courage to step through. On that day, I lacked the courage.

I was a very bashful little girl. And although I longed to be recognized, I shied away from the spotlight. I didn't want the light shown on me... I just wanted to be... to be all that I wanted to be. Right then, in that moment, it was to have those ballerina shoes so that I could become a beautiful and graceful ballerina. Later, in life, I would wish that everybody else would just shut up and sit down, and stop taking the spot light, so we could all be the same. Later, still, I would realize that the Light Shines for all of us... and all we've to do is claim that Light. Nobody has to shut up, we've all just to stand up. Courage... and walk through that door.

I begged my mother, unmercifully, to please go with me down that isle. She would not. I begged again... and again. Again and again she refused. My feet would not take me down that isle, so afraid was I of the eyes that would be upon me. In saddness, I watched as some other girl, much braver than I, stepped up to claim the shoes. There's always another one waiting, to claim what someone else won't... and this one had claimed my shoes. Alas, now they were her shoes... and I went home a very sad and confused little girl.

I'll never know why my mother wouldn't help me gain those shoes. I'll never know why she refused to take my hand and guide me to them. I'll never know why she didn't help me find the courage, to claim what might've been my own. I only know that I experienced great disappointment... regarding my mother... regarding the shoes... and from what might have been.

Alas, I was not to be the ballerina... though I continued to ballet around the house on two tiny toes. And I pondered, down the road, if this happening was symbolic of the relationship between myself and my mother... or more symbolic of my own strength... or lack, thereof. There was confusion, as to whether this had been abandonement, by my mother, in what could have been the beginnings of my finest hour. That defining moment, when I got off the Blue Line.

Mostly, I believe that we all have a right to Shine. And I believe that we are supposed to help Light one another's candles... so that we all stand as ONE Bright Light.

When sharing this story with my sister, only last week, we agreed that perhaps my mother was just as afraid, as I, of walking down that isle, with all eyes upon us. Such is life. Everything touches everything else, and life goes on.

This isn't a story about me & my mom. It's a story about me. And how my own actions and reactions, in life, effect my future. Just that most of us don't realize how much our life is like a Tapestry... with each strand connected to another one, weaving the story of our lives. Had I excercised courage, on that day, I would have gone home with the Little Red Shoes. Those shoes might've changed everything. I chose a different path.

Perhaps we don't realize just how far back our history goes. Perhaps we don't realize the grudges that we may hold against other people, that are sourced from wrong conclusion, from our own inner junk, are just that... our own inner junk, based on misunderstanding... rather than from any true reality beyond ourselves.

Remembering stories like these can free us from the bonds that bind us, and sometimes shrouding us in misconception... bonds that we, ourselves, may have placed upon our ownselves..