| Home | Books | News | About |
The Nix of the Mill-Pond
Tale of the Brothers Grimm translated by M. Hunt [1884] (slightly changed by us)
Interpretation by Undine & Jens in green [2025]
This fairy tale also revolves around the female water creature known as a “nix”. And we want to try to understand the extensive symbolism a little more deeply, even if we will never get to the bottom of it with our words. May they at least inspire us to dive deeper into the watery nature of nature with our fiery spirit.
What is this that we call “water”?
There was once upon a time a miller who lived with his wife in great contentment. They had money and land, and their prosperity increased year by year more and more. But ill-luck comes like a thief in the night, as their wealth had increased so did it again decrease, year by year, and at last the miller could hardly call the mill in which he lived, his own. He was in great distress, and when he lay down after his day’s work, found no rest, but tossed about in his bed, full of care. One morning he rose before daybreak and went out into the open air, thinking that perhaps there his heart might become lighter. As he was stepping over the mill-dam the first sunbeam was just breaking forth, and he heard a rippling sound in the pond. He turned round and perceived a beautiful woman, rising slowly out of the water. Her long hair, which she was holding off her shoulders with her soft hands, fell down on both sides, and covered her white body. He soon saw that she was the Nix of the Mill-pond, and in his fright did not know whether he should run away or stay where he was.
Water is wave, power, and work.
The fairy tale begins with a miller who lived with his wife in a mill whose power was derived from the water dammed at the mill dam to form a pond. In this, we can also recognize our physicality, which has accumulated in the flow of life because we want to hold onto the water in order to work with this power. From this holding onto and working, our wealth arises as property, and as long as it grows, the miller feels good as an ego-mind, living together as a male spirit with his female nature in this mill. And what does he work on? He processes dried seeds into flour, which he uses to feed himself and others. Here, one might think of the karmic seeds of accumulated deeds and problems. And perhaps it truly is our most important task in this world to process and redeem these seeds of unprocessed deeds and unresolved problems from our ancestors and ourselves, ideally without accumulating new ones. In this sense, one could view the body as a “problem-processing mill” for processing the hardened seeds of karma and grinding them to dust between two millstones in the interplay of opposites, so that they can no longer sprout. This symbolism also shows that the miller only begins this process, which the mill then completes with water power. And our accumulated wealth and our pent-up physicality in the flow of life should also serve this purpose.
But the nature of water is a wave, meaning: everything that comes into being must also pass away. And so, the miller’s wealth grows and fades, and “in the end, the miller could hardly tell the mill he lived in his own”, thus he must also lose his body again, which is what we call the egoic worries and sufferings of this world.
Water is source, river, and sea.
So, man naturally begins to search for the causes of his suffering, and when the sun of knowledge rose with its first rays, he recognized in the water he had dammed into a pool in the river of life, “a beautiful woman rising slowly from the water”, as if from our subconscious. The hands recall the conceptual mind, the long hair our thought chains that reach into the depths, and the white body awakening wisdom. Our reason wants to remain with it, while the ego-mind wants to run away, fearing being recognized, seized, and drawn into the water, where it will dissolve.
Water is intellect, thought, and wisdom.
But the nix made her sweet voice heard, called him by his name, and asked him why he was so sad? The miller was at first struck dumb, but when he heard her speak so kindly, he took heart, and told her how he had formerly lived in wealth and happiness, but that now he was so poor that he did not know what to do. “Be easy,” answered the nix, “I will make thee richer and happier than thou hast ever been before, only thou must promise to give me the young thing which has just been born in thy house.” “What else can that be,” thought the miller, “but a young puppy or kitten?” and he promised her what she desired. The nix descended into the water again, and he hurried back to his mill, consoled and in good spirits. He had not yet reached it, when the maid-servant came out of the house, and cried to him to rejoice, for his wife had given birth to a little boy. The miller stood as if struck by lightning; he saw very well that the cunning nix had been aware of it, and had cheated him. Hanging his head, he went up to his wife’s bedside and when she said, “Why dost thou not rejoice over the fine boy?” he told her what had befallen him, and what kind of a promise he had given to the nix. “Of what use to me are riches and prosperity?” he added, “if I am to lose my child; but what can I do?” Even the relations, who had come thither to wish them joy, did not know what to say.
Well, the miller placed his trust in the nix, complained to her of his suffering, and she promised her gifts, but only in exchange for a gift in return. Here we can again recall the interplay of nature and spirit: Nature provides the forms, and the spirit provides life. The miller desired external wealth in the world of forms, and the nix desired internal life in the flow of the world, symbolically as the miller’s new born child, who would continue life in the world. Thus, the miller was supposed to realize that all his wealth and worldly happiness come from the watery essence of nature, and in return he must give the fiery essence of the spirit so that it remains a “flowing water of life.” But this great realization of the unity of spirit and nature, which would also balance the mutual waves toward perfection, the miller evidently could not achieve. On the contrary, he felt betrayed by nature, desired only gain, and feared loss, which reveals the fundamental problem of separation. And because it must be resolved, this story must continue.
Water is knowledge, solution, and healing.
In the meantime, prosperity again returned to the miller’s house. All that he undertook succeeded, it was as if presses and coffers filled themselves of their own accord, and as if money multiplied nightly in the cupboards. It was not long before his wealth was greater than it had ever been before. But he could not rejoice over it untroubled, the bargain which he had made with the nix tormented his soul. Whenever he passed the mill-pond, he feared she might ascend and remind him of his debt. He never let the boy himself go near the water. “Beware,” he said to him, “if thou dost but touch the water, a hand will rise, seize thee, and draw thee down.” But as year after year went by and the nix did not show herself again, the miller began to feel at ease.
The boy grew up to be a youth and was apprenticed to a huntsman. When he had learnt everything, and had become an excellent huntsman, the lord of the village took him into his service. In the village lived a beautiful and true-hearted maiden, who pleased the huntsman, and when his master perceived that, he gave him a little house, the two were married, lived peacefully and happily, and loved each other with all their hearts.
So, the fairy tale tells us how the nix of the pond fulfils her promise, but the miller tries to forget and avoid his guilt, and how the unresolved problems and karmic debts are passed on from parent to child. In this, we can see how this “problem-processing mill” of physicality also functions in a broader sense: Every unprocessed karmic seed is a debt that keeps turning in the mill of the world, meaning it must sprout and manifest or embody itself again and again until it is recognized, processed, and resolved. Accordingly, one could view the embodiments of these unresolved problems as a kind of actor. By this, however, we don’t mean women playing women, men playing men, children playing children, or old people playing old people, but rather a true “actor” who has no form himself but can take on any form. If one wanted to give this formlessness a name, one could speak of consciousness as “moving knowledge in being” or of information as “inner form-giving.”
Water is movement, embodiment and solution.
Thus, the accumulated problems, especially the fundamental problem of separation, are now embodied, ready to be resolved: The miller’s son leaves his father’s house, learning not the miller’s profession, but that of a hunter, just as a river flows from a spring and must leave the spring if it wishes to become a river of its own. What does this “profession” of the hunter mean? The son’s path to inner life was forbidden by his father and blocked by fear of death. So, he doesn’t become a miller, but instead pursues outer life, as many parents model for their children, even though the miller had recognized the water creature as profound wisdom, from which he derived all his wealth. And just as the nix, as a water creature of nature, hunts for life, so the hunter now also hunts for life, but to kill it and feed himself and others from the dead bodies. One could reflect at length on the difference between killing seeds as a miller and killing animals as a hunter, which we won’t explore further here. At least the ancient teachings say that by killing animals one accumulates a lot of painful karma because the concept of death is reinforced…
The miller’s son goes now to the village of the world and serves a master other than his father, marries a village girl, and gets a house there. Thus, in this story, man and woman once again appear as “actors,” playing their roles in the world. The woman plays the feminine being of childbearing nature, and the man the masculine being of the witnessing spirit, to embody the problem of separation, because it demands to be resolved. To this end, they marry in the world and attempt to unite physically and, of course, also spiritually, in order to resolve the fundamental problem of separation. Thus, for some time, they lived “peacefully and happily, and loved each other with all their hearts”. But then, of course, the wave of the water creature reappeared, for no form is permanent:
One day the huntsman was chasing a roe, and when the animal turned aside from the forest into the open country, he pursued it and at last shot it. He did not notice that he was now in the neighbourhood of the dangerous mill-pond, and went, after he had disembowelled the stag, to the water, in order to wash his blood-stained hands. Scarcely, however, had he dipped them in than the nix ascended, smilingly wound her dripping arms around him, and drew him quickly down under the waves, which closed over him.
Thus, the miller’s son is caught up in his father’s guilt as he tried to wash away his own blood guilt as a hunter, and is drawn back into the depths of inner nature. One could also say that he died and his body dissolved again, and this “dissolution” is also an essence of water.
Water is creation, preservation, and dissolution.
And with this, the fundamental problem of separation reappears, for we think that when a body dissolves, something is lost, and we are very afraid of this, especially the ego-mind, which identifies with a body and considers this form its own. Like an actor who identifies with a long-played role and, at some point, believes that he is really this persona with the mask on.
When it was evening, and the huntsman did not return home, his wife became alarmed. She went out to seek him, and as he had often told her that he had to be on his guard against the snares of the nix, and dared not venture into the neighbourhood of the mill-pond, she already suspected what had happened. She hastened to the water, and when she found his hunting-pouch lying on the shore, she could no longer have any doubt of the misfortune.
Thus, the wife also plays her role as the soul of nature who lost her husband, at least in the form in which she married him. Naturally, she suspected where he had gone, for essentially all actors are the same consciousness. And so, she searches for him in the depths of the water, where, on the shore leading to the outside world, she also finds the “hunter’s bag,” a reminder of his worldly guilt, just as we all carry such a bag with us. One could also speak of the subconscious, where she seeks him, but she doesn’t dare venture there, for intellect tells her that she too would have to die. Indeed, just as many married couples, after falling in deep love, often die in old age, one after the other, for they have learned that the form of the body changes and does not remain as it was when they married, so that their love must be based on a deeper foundation beyond the physical, and thus they achieve their common goal.
Lamenting her sorrow, and wringing her hands, she called on her beloved by name, but in vain. She hurried across to the other side of the pond, and called him anew; she reviled the nix with harsh words, but no answer followed. The surface of the water remained calm, only the half face of the moon stared steadily back at her. The poor woman did not leave the pond. With hasty steps, she paced round and round it, without resting a moment, sometimes in silence, sometimes uttering a loud cry, sometimes softly sobbing.
But the wife of the miller’s son has not yet reached this goal of deep love. She loves her husband too much in the external world of forms and seeks him there as well, and so she weeps lamentably for her loss and reproves the water creature of nature with harsh words. But unlike the miller, the water woman does not answer or help, and everything is now described in the opposite way, for just as the miller played a male role of the spirit, so the wife plays a female role as the soul of nature.
In this way, the general interplay of opposites is symbolically represented: The spirit gives life and seeks forms, and nature gives forms and seeks life. He lamented in the sunshine, and she in the moonlight. He finds help and wisdom in the inner water-being in the depths, and she in the outer earth-being in the heights, as we shall read.
Water is dark depth, still mirror, and bright height.
Therefore, “the surface of the water remained calm,” for the inner water-woman is content because the miller’s debt has been paid, and she is reunited with life. But the wife “sees only half the face of the moon staring steadily at her,” and is naturally not satisfied with this motionless stillness, but now sees in the water-woman a debt and seeks the movement and life of the waves, for outer nature also needs life and fears its loss. This is, of course, also due to the fact that she only sees “half the face of the moon.” Wonderful symbolism! Yes, we are all reflected in the water of consciousness and see the face of the world in it, but not the whole, because we cannot see the consciousness itself in the depths, which sees everything but is not visible. And we can never leave this water, just as the “poor woman” cannot leave the dammed millpond, but instead circles around it again and again with complaints, sorrow, and suffering, like a bubble of consciousness in which a living being lives, in this case her husband and she, by the same principle.
At last, her strength came to an end, she sank down to the ground and fell into a heavy sleep. Presently a dream took possession of her. She was anxiously climbing upwards between great masses of rock; thorns and briars caught her feet, the rain beat in her face, and the wind tossed her long hair about. When she had reached the summit, quite a different sight presented itself to her; the sky was blue, the air soft, the ground sloped gently downwards, and on a green meadow, gay with flowers of every colour, stood a pretty cottage. She went up to it and opened the door; there sat an old woman with white hair, who beckoned to her kindly.
As the wife’s own strength waned, she too found help from her subconscious, namely a path into the world of mountains of matter, amidst the struggle of the elements. Yet at the end of this path, she attains a tranquil view from above of harmonious nature and finds, in a pure hut, or rather, pure physicality, an ancient mother with white hair, or rather, thoughts of wisdom. In this, we can recognize, in contrast to the inner water being, the outer earth being of nature. And what was first a dream, she, as the soul of nature, must naturally also physically realize. That is, not in the moonlight of the night, but in the sunlight of the day.
At that very moment, the poor woman awoke, day had already dawned, and she at once resolved to act in accordance with her dream. She laboriously climbed the mountain; everything was exactly as she had seen it in the night. The old woman received her kindly, and pointed out a chair on which she might sit. “Thou must have met with a misfortune,” she said, “since thou hast sought out my lonely cottage.” With tears, the woman related what had befallen her. “Be comforted,” said the old woman, “I will help thee. Here is a golden comb for thee. Tarry till the full moon has risen, then go to the mill-pond, seat thyself on the shore, and comb thy long black hair with this comb. When thou hast done, lay it down on the bank, and thou wilt see what will happen.” The woman returned home, but the time till the full moon came, passed slowly. At last, the shining disc appeared in the heavens, then she went out to the mill-pond, sat down and combed her long black hair with the golden comb, and when she had finished, she laid it down at the water’s edge. It was not long before there was a movement in the depths, a wave rose, rolled to the shore, and bore the comb away with it. In not more than the time necessary for the comb to sink to the bottom, the surface of the water parted, and the head of the huntsman arose. He did not speak, but looked at his wife with sorrowful glances. At the same instant, a second wave came rushing up, and covered the man’s head. All had vanished, the mill-pond lay peaceful as before, and nothing but the face of the full moon shone on it.
Thus, the soul begins her long and painful journey of forms to reunite with the spirit under the full moon and to find the lost life in wholeness, perhaps even eternal life, in which all waves are balanced, as calm and smooth as the mirror of pure consciousness.
The path symbolically begins with a “golden comb to comb her long, black hair.” The gold reminds us of the truth, and the hair reminds us of the thoughts that are still dark and tangled and must be ordered and smoothed with the truth. But to do this, we must only make a beginning in the external world with our waking consciousness and let the inner world, or the subconscious, take care of the rest. For we know that the path to wholeness cannot be completed by the ego-mind, because it is a separating consciousness that begins the path but must disappear along the way.
Water is cause, means, and effect.
At least the still water is now moving again, a wave appears that absorbs the remedy, and her husband’s head becomes visible in the waves, connected to his hair and thoughts. He naturally looks sadly at his wife, for separation is painful suffering and a real cause for sadness. But he must disappear back into the waves, for even the most truthful thoughts are not enough to realize the path from separation to wholeness.
The seven long days in the fairy tale until the full moon, which “slowly passed her by,” are often become seven years for us, sometimes even seventy years, seven lifetimes, or even seven days of creation. For the full moon, too, appears in waves, wanes and waxes, rises and sets, and revolves like the “problem-solving mill” in a circle until the fundamental problem of the separation is resolved. So, on to the next round:
Full of sorrow, the woman went back, but again the dream showed her the cottage of the old woman. Next morning, she again set out and complained of her woes to the wise woman. The old woman gave her a golden flute, and said, “Tarry till the full moon comes again, then take this flute; play a beautiful air on it, and when thou hast finished, lay it on the sand; then thou wilt see what will happen.” The wife did as the old woman told her. No sooner was the flute lying on the sand than there was a stirring in the depths, and a wave rushed up and bore the flute away with it. Immediately afterwards the water parted, and not only the head of the man, but half of his body also arose. He stretched out his arms longingly towards her, but a second wave came up, covered him, and drew him down again.
The golden flute reminds us of the sound of true harmony, as well as of shepherds’ flutes, used to soothe, protect, and attract animals, or rather, our animal nature. This true and pure harmony naturally also aims to overcome the painful separation and rediscover harmonious wholeness. Thus, the beloved appears in his body with outstretched arms, full of longing for union with his beloved, but only halfway, for life and thus free movement are still missing. Thus, the sound of this flute, as a longing for harmony, is not enough to solve the problem of separation. And just as the body emerges from the water in a wave, so too is it drawn back into the water, or rather, the sea of causes, by a wave, for apparently inner and outer nature do not yet play the same song.
Water is sound, rhythm, and harmony.
At this point, one might also consider how it is actually possible to regain a form from water that has dissolved in it? For example, if you dissolve salt in water, it initially seems to disappear. But you can regain it when the water is evaporated. Of course, it’s the same salt, but do the crystal shapes also remain the same? In this regard, modern science knows the law of conservation of energy, which states that energy can never be lost, but only transforms, thus taking on different forms. Similarly, there is also talk of a law of conservation of information, but here we are still uncertain, which is probably also due to the fact that no one can say exactly what information actually is.
So, the fundamental problem of separation in the waves of creation and decay is still not solved, and the wife, as the soul of nature, laments:
“Alas, what does it profit me?” said the unhappy woman, “that I should see my beloved, only to lose him again!” Despair filled her heart anew, but the dream led her a third time to the house of the old woman. She set out, and the wise woman gave her a golden spinning-wheel, consoled her and said, “All is not yet fulfilled, tarry until the time of the full moon, then take the spinning-wheel, seat thyself on the shore, and spin the spool full, and when thou hast done that, place the spinning-wheel near the water, and thou wilt see what will happen.” The woman obeyed all she said exactly; as soon as the full moon showed itself, she carried the golden spinning-wheel to the shore, and span industriously until the flax came to an end, and the spool was quite filled with the threads. No sooner was the wheel standing on the shore than there was a more violent movement than before in the depths of the pond, and a mighty wave rushed up, and bore the wheel away with it. Immediately the head and the whole body of the man rose into the air, in a water-spout. He quickly sprang to the shore, caught his wife by the hand and fled.
Now the ancient Mother Earth, as a being of external nature, also provides a third means of accessing the inner water being, namely a golden spinning wheel. This reminds us of the soul threads of cause and effect spun in the world of forms, which, as a golden means of external nature, were also meant to achieve a certain truth or reality. And this means is then successful, naturally together with the two previous ones, and from the waves on the sea of causes, a living body emerges, grasping the soul of nature and seeking to escape with this soul from inner nature to an outer one.
Water is a formless source of forms through cause and effect.
What kind of form was spun from the soul threads? Certainly, this physical form had a close connection to the past body of the hunter and husband through the soul threads of cause and effect. But there were also reasons why this body had dissolved, and thus this form too cannot be permanent.
But they had scarcely gone a very little distance, when the whole pond rose with a frightful roar, and streamed out over the open country. The fugitives already saw death before their eyes, when the woman in her terror implored the help of the old woman, and in an instant, they were transformed, she into a toad, he into a frog. The flood which had overtaken them could not destroy them, but it tore them apart and carried them far away.
Thus, the golden spinning wheel did not solve the problem of the waves of creation and decay, and the wave of inner nature, or the subconscious, follows them, and this time even threateningly. Thus, the river, which wants to flow from its source out into the world through time and space, fears that it will perish again and flow back into the sea, where it will lose its form as a river in the deep sea of causes, even if that was its original source. One can ponder this symbolism at length, and our words will not reach the root of it here.
Water is unity, life, and diversity.
We know a similarly symbolic story from Indian traditions. Here, too, it concerns a guilt passed on to descendants. Only, the flood of water comes not from the depths, but from above, as the entire Milky Way of our galaxy becomes the river of the heavenly Ganga to cleanse and redeem the ashes of the ancestors who once failed to recognize the deity. Here, too, hair plays an important role in controlling and regulating the flood of water. And here, too, humans are only making the first move, so that the deity can complete it. For this purifying flood of water, tumbling down to earth, can only be collected by one deity: Shiva, the god of dissolution or inner nature, who also bears the moon symbol:
With terrible force, she rushed from her heavenly channels in a gigantic storm of immense proportions onto Shiva’s sacred head. “He calls me,” she cried in her rage, “and all my floods shall sweep him away and whirl him with overwhelming force into the deepest underworld.” (Ramayana from 1.42 or Mahabharata from 3.107)
One could also think here of the biblical Flood, in which all living things dissolved, yet “survived” in a small ark, and the world arose again as it had sunk.
Thus, in our fairy tale, creation remains as an external world, for the soul asks the wise mother of external nature for help, and so the female being transforms into a toad, who likes to live in the earth, and the male being into a frog, who likes to live in the water, even though both are born in water. Thus, the flood cannot dissolve or redeem them, because they still cling to the external world to play their role and solve the problem of separation, which now continues to embody itself.
When the water had dispersed and they both touched dry land again, they regained their human form, but neither knew where the other was; they found themselves among strange people, who did not know their native land. High mountains and deep valleys lay between them. In order to keep themselves alive, they were both obliged to tend sheep. For many long years they drove their flocks through field and forest and were full of sorrow and longing.
Water is a wave with mountains and valleys.
This is the fate and also the challenge of humankind. They rise from the animal world but recognize neither themselves nor their true home, for the physical and material barriers lie between them like high mountains and valleys. To sustain their lives, they must tend the animal nature of their own body and that of others, and they live long periods in the fields and forests of the world, full of sad longing, without really knowing what for. Thus, the profession of the shepherd is considered one of the first and also an ancient symbol of human reason, which, as holistic or divine reason, is supposed to rule over the conceptual understanding of animal beings. We find this symbolism in Christ as the shepherd with the shepherd’s crook, as well as in Krishna as the cowherd with the shepherd’s flute. And in a wonderful way, we find here in the fairy tale a rare balance between a shepherdess and a shepherd, who play their roles as nature and spirit, and who essentially have the same task in this world: to find themselves reflected in the other.
When spring had once more broken forth on the earth, they both went out one day with their flocks, and as chance would have it, they drew near each other. They met in a valley, but did not recognize each other; yet they rejoiced that they were no longer so lonely.
Thus, the rivers flow from their source on the slopes of the worldly mountains through the world out of attachment and detachment and gladly find themselves in the valley to live “side by side” as nature and spirit.
Henceforth they each day drove their flocks to the same place; they did not speak much, but they felt comforted. One evening when the full moon was shining in the sky, and the sheep were already at rest, the shepherd pulled the flute out of his pocket, and played on it a beautiful but sorrowful air. When he had finished, he saw that the shepherdess was weeping bitterly. “Why art thou weeping?” he asked. “Alas,” answered she, “thus shone the full moon when I played this air on the flute for the last time, and the head of my beloved rose out of the water.” He looked at her, and it seemed as if a veil fell from his eyes, and he recognized his dear wife, and when she looked at him, and the moon shone in his face she knew him also. They embraced and kissed each other, and no one need ask if they were happy.
Yes, this rediscovery has little to do with the outward language of external concepts, but is an inner feeling or perception. And from this depth also comes the harmonious sound of the golden flute, a sad song about separation and full of longing for harmonious wholeness, which can naturally unfold a very special effect under the full moon. This full moon had risen countless times by now, but now it could achieve its goal. In the sound of harmony, they both recognize themselves in this holistic moonlight; the illusion of their separate physicality disappears before their eyes. Man and woman, spirit and nature, now also see each other internally in pure light or consciousness, thus celebrating their spiritual marriage beyond physicality in the depths of their true being. Thus, spirit and nature find each other again, which, in essence, can never be lost. Neither can external nature lose life, nor inner life the nature of forms. Yes, thus the spirit should love nature, and nature the spirit, for true love can overcome every separation. How else could one find bliss?
Water is love, light, and eternal life.
So, when our modern science speaks of a dead universe, where life is merely a “marginal phenomenon”, it is primarily because it has a very narrow definition of “life” and therefore cannot discover it everywhere. For this reason, we are more afraid than ever of losing our lives today and undertake strange things to hold on to it, but primarily only as a physical being. And if a natural scientist carelessly speaks of spirit, he or she is immediately threatened with Inquisition and the burning at the stake. Therefore, only a few dare to do so, and usually only in retirement as “secure pensioners.” Yes, it is indeed a strange worldview, one that promotes many of the extremes we currently experience, above all extreme materialism. But these are all embodied roles we play in the world in order to ultimately rediscover the whole, or the divine.
In this regard, one could also reflect on the biblical parable of the separation of Adam into man and woman. There it says: “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him. (Genesis 2:18)” And by “alone” here, is not the all-one meant, but a separate being, which man, as the “image of God,” should not be. And the “helper” are the embodied beings that confront him, and in which he should recognize himself as a holistic or divine being: “And the Lord God formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them.” But he gave them only outward names with outward concepts, without recognizing their inner divine nature. “Then the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept. And he took one of his ribs and closed up the flesh in place of it. And the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken from the man, and brought her to him. And the man said: Now she is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh...” And we are still in this “sleep state” of external and physical consciousness today, and all the incarnations of animals and humans as male and female are still playing their roles, in order to one day recognize themselves internally as pure consciousness in the holistic light of the great awakening. Then, in the flow of life, there will be neither fear of death nor fear of any form. Amen - OM
Water is healing, wisdom, and bliss.
• ... Table of contents of all fairy tale interpretations ...
• King Thrushbeard - (topic: holy and healthy marriage)
• Saint Solicitous - (topic: beard and violin)
• The old witch - (topic: true Love and Reason)
• The Jew among Thorns - (topic: Reason and Mind)
• The Princess and the blind Blacksmith - (topic: Christmas)
• The Hare and the Hedgehog - (topic: I’m already here)
• Hans my Hedgehog - (topic: Reason and Nature)
• The Simpleton - (topic: Nature of the sea)
• The Water-Nix - (topic: Source and River)
• The Nix of the Mill-Pond (topic: Water-being)
• The Little Mermaid Undine - (topic: Wave dance)
 |
[1884] Grimm's Household Tales. Translated from the German and edited by Margaret Hunt. With an introduction by Andrew Lang, 1884, Vol. 1/2, London: George Bell and Sons |