Sunday, February 23, 2014


When i look in the mirror, the sight of my littleness, both literal and metaphorical fills me with revulsion. I also envisage what i could be had circumstances been different but mostly stark reality, unmitigated by anything anodyne, forces itself on me unambiguously and painfully. To know the reasons for one's diminution and the path to its alleviation doesn't make things easier. It compounds the problem by counterpointing the lack of appurtenances and human agency necessary to prompt this exculpation. So i wait patiently, though with increasing hopelessness, for my self realization to materialize.

Passing by the gates of the castle i hear the sound of weeping. I see a young woman crying her eyes out because the king has asked her to spin straw into gold. Knowing that this is home territory for me i help her out. She gives me her necklace. On the second day, finding her in the same predicament i bail her out again, only to be given a ring this time. When the third day finds the situation reduplicated and seeing also that she has nothing to offer i ask for her hand in marriage four years from now. She agrees.

The interlude of four years is spent in a state of pleasurable anticipation. Signifiers of my old being stud me, not with irrevocability but tinged with hopefulness. I am alternately excited and terrified because everything hinges on her fulfilling her promise and i also know, with certainty that i can exact allegiance to the promise from her regardless of circumstances.

Four years hence i go to her and remind her of her promise. She refuses and in her repudiation , which i subterraneously anticipated i find old anxieties resurfacing. Her obdurate refusal leaves me with no choice but to play my final card. I ask her to guess my name. She thinks of the most bizarre possible names but can't guess at mine.

That night, as the chimney issues smoke i build a fire and dance around it singing 'my name is Rumplestiltskin'. I know with foredoomed certainty that my fate is sealed so i go to the castle next day, expecting diminution of not just my physiognomy but of any hope of becoming.

She has guessed my name. I am suddenly transformed into what my essence was and what i wanted to be. My transwoman being and becoming  refracted from my every crevice and aperture. She kissed me and it seemed that the mirror showed me not what was but what was. I took her away with me. I had expected that my transmogrification could be precipitated but now the discovery of love augments my joy. Her propensities and orientation allies her to me. We hope to live happily ever after. 


She had to spin the straw into gold otherwise her life was imperiled . Unable to find a solution any which way she began crying. A little man came in, promising help. She told him she'd give him her necklace. Off he went spinning straw into gold and much to his incredulity the king found that the girl had delivered on what she said. Yet the insatiable greed of the king, his inordinate lust for material wealth made him take the girl to another room with even more straw. The girl was inconsolable and wept unconstrainedly. Again the little man came to her aid, transforming bland straws into coruscating heaps of gold. In return she relinquished her ring. The king, on seeing his own fortunes redoubled took her to an even bigger room with more straw and unbeknownst to him, the little man saved the girl yet again. This time she had nothing to give and curtailed by her sexual propensities and proclivities which alienated her was unable to promise anything so he asked for her hand in marriage in four  years time and she yielded, albeit with great misgivings because her immediate concern was the amelioration of her circumstances before which longer fatalistic chanciness was momentarily obliterated.

So she married the prince through force of circumstance. It wasn't her choice and expediency and exigency forced her to embrace it. She spent her four  years in great misery, unconsoled and unmitigatedly miserable. She bore a child on whom she lavished unconditional love, seeing the baby as an exoneration from unutterably dreary condition of being.

The little man returned and demanded from her a fulfilment of her promise. Accustomed to material wealth she refused haughtily. He agreed to let her off if she guessed his name. The princess thought of the most unusual names she could think off  such as Balthazar, Melchior, Pickleburster.  yet none of the names were his. When her courtier told her he found a little man dancing and singing his name was Rumplestiltskin she was relieved. So she told him on the next day that his name was Rumplestiltskin

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of relief . When she opened her eyes she saw a beautiful transwoman. The transwoman had draped  a gorgeous gown around her, her plaid shawl was of the fleeciest wool, her lips gleamed like the crescent moon under the patina of lipstick, her earrings glimmered luminously. Unable to contain her excitement at this metamorphosis the princess kissed her fulsomely. For the princess it was as if she had glimpsed a pond and seen her unwavering reflection corresponding to the blueprint of herself she had in her mind . She abandoned all riches, took her baby and left the palace with its significations of male centrality forever.

It transpired that the transwoman had been cursed into the form of the old man due to the putative incongruity of her being. In the princess, even while spinning straw from gold she had seen the possibility of apotheosis yet had been fearful. The princess was the image in the mirror she identified as ideal, her symbolic reentry into life and love depended on the princess. Now it had been actualized, the images of her and the princess  intersected fortuitously. They lived happily for a long time.