The heartbroken Princess

(Setting sun)

Once upon a time there was as a little princess who was magic. She was able to get anything she wanted with her magic.

(Cozy quilt by the sea)

You might think a princess like this was happy or contented. She wasn’t. The first thing she said as soon as she got something was “but I want…” or ” but I need…” followed by what she wanted next. And because she was magic she got the next thing. So again you might think she was happy or contented because she got the next thing. She wasn’t.

(Wide door)

The sad thing was she was heartbroken. Of course she was. You see all she could think about was what she didn’t have. Her mind was full of loss and not enough and not as good as and less than and they have more than… You would be heartbroken too.

(Narrow passageway)

The most sad thing about this little Princess was she had the power to be happy. She could have been happy every single day of her life. She just didn’t know it. And no matter how many times the people around her told her she could not listen because her mind was so full of what she didn’t have.

(Funny statue in Setúbal)

You might ask why didn’t she get happy with her magic? Her magic could only bring her things, bring her places, bring her people. It was her power that could bring her happy. She never used it. There was a way she could have been happy for one day, just one day (or maybe half a day, just half a day) with her magic. By placing one of the things she got by magic in her mind for a full day (or just half a day if a full day was too long.) If she had been able to think of nothing but the joy of receiving the most recent thing she got and think only of that for a full day (or half a day) she would have been happy for that day.

(Lovely view in Alćacer do Sal)

She was never taught this by her parents so she didn’t know. She didn’t know about her power either and that was sad because it was even more powerful (that’s not a surprise is it?) than her magic. Her power was the story she told herself and her story was lack. Her story could so easily have been, plenty. Mine definitely could.

Could yours? Mairead.