The gold slipper on the dry riverbed.
I came across this lonely gold slipper left among trash on the dry bed of the Chitravati river in south India, while I was walking the dog.
It touched me in a place deep inside of me where the archetypes live.
In that place of magic deep inside, a story started to take shape. I could feel it being spun, without me interfering too much. All I had to do was listen:
A gold slipper was left on the bed of a dry river,
amongst the other things people had discarded.
Her gold lacquer still shimmered in the afternoon day light,
diamonds sparkled as if the party was still going on,
though her straps were broken.
Was she discarded this slipper?
Or was it someone’s best shoe,
left there hoping the man of her dreams would pick it up,
and reunite it with it's other half,
so the women could walk on two feet again?
Was someone waiting,
sadly feeling like she was only half a being,
not deserving happiness by herself?
Feeling like she had to give up her shoe,
hopping along in life on one foot,
to deserve that other half.
So confused about her own worth,
that she left her bait with the trash,
on the bed of a dry river.
What a place to attract a prince.
The riverbed appreciated the presence of the gold slipper,
even if she lay amongst the trash.
It found joy in watching her shimmer and shine.
Even the moonlight did wonders for her sparkle.
It had felt broken for a long time,
a dam had been built,
upstream in a different state.
The riverbed had been waiting,
for the water to come again and wet it's bed.
It had been thirsty,
for the waters that had shaped it,
feeling like it was only half a being.
'What is a riverbed but the arms of the earth, open to recieve a river?'
it had asked itself.
But that had been before.
Before the riverbed had watched small green seedlings come up from its soil.
New life, that was now fully grown and flowering,
bathing in the sunlight on it's very own bed!
Goats, many of them, came to nibble at bits of grass
sprouting up from what didn't seem like
dry lifeless soil anymore.
Their many small hooves played the riverbed like a drum.
And groups of chatty, boasting boys,
wearing shorts and carrying wooden bats,
and a ball.
They came every afternoon,
the riverbed started looking forward to them coming.
It had stopped feeling broken.
They even built a promenade with lanterns and benches along it,
it didn't seem to matter that there was no water.
So the riverbed stopped caring and started noticing the slipper.
That lovely sulking gold slipper.
Did she know how wonderfully she could sulk?
Oh was she lovely.
After some diamonds had become dusty and some even fallen off,
the gold slipper, stopped caring too.
She started a conversation with the empty milk bag and the torn up, sunbleached shirt.
And eventually she started noticing the arms of the earth embracing her, the river bed, even with her lost diamonds,
and felt she belonged right where she was,
exactly the way she was
and that luck was not lost
and that all along,
this hadn't been a mistake.
It just had taken her some time to see it.
Story and picture by Clara Andriessen