The Ugly Duckling

I think we are at the closing of an age whose manna no longer feeds and sustains our growing consciousness'. What can appear and even feel to be our death throes may really in fact be our birth pains. Ask most mothers - I know that I wondered if birthing a child was as close as you can get to death while helping to bring life into this world. But that was just my 25 hour experience.

A great shift in consciousness is happening in those who would dare to want more than where they have been.

In all births, the placenta is discarded - what had been so vital to the child's growth in his dark watery world no longer serves him in his new world of light and air. This new world is one where he discovers his own identity and grows into his own new self.

For me, this question of our True Identity is paramount. If we never know who we really are, we forever wrestle with what we are not.
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What about the UNspiritual? Those who have not the slightest confidence that they will successfully do "their part" so that God will succeed in doing "his part"?

What if you thought you were the Ugly Duckling and lived as if you believed this and all along you were a beautiful grace-full swan? Doesn't the story tell of this Ugly Duckling, getting a glimpse of himself in the water (spirit) and seeing his True Self?

I am going to take the liberty to post a few paragraphs of Han Christian Anderson's, "The Ugly Duckling". Okay, I know, this probably sounds like such a foolish and childish thing to share, but some of these little stories were born out of the collective consciouness of man and are archetypes and higher truths told so simply. Hey, at least its not Bible again, huh. :) Here goes:

“Yes, do,” said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals, because of its ugly appearance. Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. then, as winter approached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, “Croak, croak.” It made one shiver with cold to look at him. All this was very sad for the poor little duckling. One evening, just as the sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any like them before. They were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage shown with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a singular cry, as they spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer countries across the sea. As they mounted higher and higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them. He whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. Could he ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself with excitement. He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished to be as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. The winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. At length it froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, to keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at last, and lay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor little creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about the room. Then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. He flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. What a condition he was in! The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily he escaped. The door stood open; the poor creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow.

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and privations which the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. Then the young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the air. They bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knew how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful, in the freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three beautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more strangely unhappy than ever.

“I will fly to those royal birds,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it does not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter.”

Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched wings.

“Kill me,” said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited death.

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome.

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and cake into the water.

“See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands, and shouting joyously, “There is another swan come; a new one has arrived.”

Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, “The new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty.” And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”
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So, "To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg."

We are spirit and have always been spirit and I believe just because this spirit or energy has been slowed down as Bro. Einstein tells (Apostle Paul said we were lowered) to appear as solid matter in this 3D world and experience all the privations that is created from the 'duck consciousness' does not change its swanlike origins. I acted like a duck, thought I was a duck, and did 'duck' things until, I found out I have never really been a duck at all. But because I have lived a duck's life, I now am not just a baby spirit or in this case "swan" but I have grown in consciousness and experience to have mercy on all the other swans who think they too are just a duck.

We all really are connected at the spirit level or as new science calls it, the quantum level, so that when one of us suffers, we all suffer. And when one rejoices, we do so rejoice with you.

Grace-full wishes to all beautiful swans pretending they are a duck :)
Karen