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The Beggar's Curse
submitted by Joan Wilson
A story about the difference between Gifts and presents.
Adapted from an Irish story -- Author Unknown
Once upon a time in a land not so far or near, there was a blind poet beggar. He relied on his singing, poems and
begging for his scant earnings. In this land, there was no greater fear than that of a curse, and no greater desire than
that of a blessing. Saints and priests had the power to bless. Widows and poets the power to curse - since they
were the poorest and most destitute, surely God would listen to their outcries first.
One Christmas Eve, the poet beggar was begging in the village, singing his songs in the hopes that shoppers would
drop a few gifts of kindness in his cap. It had been a bad week for charity and he had only a few coins in the bottom
of his cap. The shops closed, so the poet beggar went to stand by the town pub door, hoping against hope for a
kind gift or two.
Suddenly the door banged open and out tumbled a group of boisterous rowdies, plowing right into the blind poet
beggar, knocking him over and scattering his few coins. The coins jingled on their way down between the deep
cracks of the cobblestones and the poet beggar was on his knees, crawling and feeling around, madly searching for
his meager lost coins. Seeing him the drunken youths roared with laughter. Enraged, the poet beggar stood up and
with both hands in the air, laid a curse on the town: "A Christmas curse upon this village be, and may a hunk of
the soul of any who dares a gift to give, be stone cold by eventide!"
The poet's curse rang out so loudly, more clearly than the pealing bells of the church, that his voice filled every
cottage in the village. Knowing the power of a curse, the heart of every man, woman and child was filled with fear.
Immediately, everyone hid the gifts that they had intended to give the next morning. And from that day forward, no
one gave a gift for fear of them losing a chunk of their soul.
But to not give gifts became increasingly hard to do. So instead, the people of this village invented the "present." The
"present" was a world of difference from the "gift." In giving a present, people didn't give a part of themselves, they
simply present the other with an object: a ring, a book, a clock. But of course, the present lacked the richness of the
gift, and so they invented fancy paper and bows to wrap their presents in, hoping to make up for what was lacking
inside the present.
Now part of the misery of a good curse is its ability to hang, like an invisible cloud, over a cottage or village -
sometimes for years and years - just waiting for someone to violate it. It had been centuries now since the poet's
curse, but his curse was still hanging over all the villager's heads.
One Saturday morning, however, a wandering minstrel rode into the village with his music, songs and traveling magic
show. He knew nothing of the curse. His afternoon performance had all the villagers singing, dancing and marveling
at his tricks and stories. Everyone has happy and celebrating.
At the end of his show, he spied a beautiful young girl in the audience, her face radiant in joy. She clapped the
loudest and longest and the minstrel was touched by her appreciation. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
Then he said, "Here, I give you a gift," promptly taking a gold chain from around his neck and placing it around hers.
The poor girl turned pale as death itself and all the villagers raced back into their cottages, bolting the doors and
covering the windows. In tears, the young girl told the minstrel of the curse.
He gently held her hand and speaking in such a clear voice that every villager could hear, he said, "In every error
there is truth, in every curse is a blessing. Your ancient poet did speak the truth. Indeed, each time you give a gift
you do lose a part of your soul."
"When you give a gift the first thing you do is you've got to kiss it on top so that
the little, little door can open.
And when the door opens you can slip a piece of your soul inside. Every gift contains this same hollow hidden
compartment that contains the real gift. That real gift is a piece of the soul of the gift giver. Likewise, when you
receive a gift you've got to follow the same proper procedure: the first thing you need to do is hold the gift gently up
to your lips. You've got to inhale, inhale deep the real gift which lays within which is, a piece of the soul of the gift
giver. And then, you can rejoice in the gift itself."
"So you see, dear lady, if I kept giving and giving gifts without receiving any in return, I would soon be out of soul
and dead as a rose in winter. The exchange does not require an object, for even gratitude, if it be real and loving, is
a gift. Hugs and kisses, thank-you notes and prayers, are also made with hidden compartments."
At this, the young girl stood up on her tiptoes, kissed the minstrel warmly, and said, "Kind stranger and singer of
songs, I gift you not only with gratitude, but also with a hunk of my soul!"
The two glowed with such beauty that the entire village was flooded with light. All the shuttered windows and barred
doors flew open. Young and old began dancing in the streets for the ancient curse was no more. And that
Christmas, beneath every tree, there were gifts galore.
Joan chose this story because she sees that what's needed this year is for all of us to be able to receive. When we receive,
then we can feel the love that is the Gift in the present. Receiving is remembering the love, and for Joan, the Spirit of the
Holidays is the Spirit of Love. She would like us to remember this and shares with us a song she
re-worked...
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Simple Gifts
(Sung to the tune of "Tis a Gift to be Simple") |
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Give a gift that is simple,
give a gift that is free,
I’ll give one to you and
you give one to me.
Our gifts may be simple and
our gifts may be small,
But the gifts that are
simple are the best gifts of all.
When true gifting is gained,
Our joy will be great and
the gift will remain.
To receive and to give it
will be our delight,
And by sharing the gift we
will come ‘round right. |
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