March 15, 2009 at 9:25 A.M. "Errors" were inserted and corrected, again. Numerous attempts to post this story have been frustrated and it was already once "deleted" by hackers.
As of 11:10 A.M., on December 9, 2008 the following web sites were blocked when I tried to post this story yet again:
http://view.atdmt.com/CNT/iview/msnnkcin0090000
https://altfarm.mediadlex.comad/js/4820-43936-20
I.
"... 'The Sleeping Prince' [is] a parallel story about a passive hero rescued from enchantment by an active heroine, [that] was forgotten."
Alison Lurie, Don't Tell the Grown-Ups: Subversive Children's Literature (London: Little, Brown & Co., 1990), p. 21.
Once upon a time there was a glittering island kingdom where people lived in tall glass towers, travelled in underground trains, tossed frisbees in a huge Central Park, and were required by law to pick up after their pet dogs. Almost everyone owned a dog. The people of this kingdom walked everywhere holding small, transparent plastic bags filled with "dog poop" and wearing headsets, so they could listen to music on their portable CD players, I-Pods or MP-3 devices, when not speaking on their cell phones, naturally, as they "scooped" their dogs' "poop." This land was known as the kingdom of the "pooper scoopers."
In the Upper West side of this kingdom there lived a man named Sheldon ("The Sturgeon King") Morgenstern, along with his wife, Esther and their son, Mortimer (known as "Morty" to all of their friends and family members). Now Morty was a bit odd, even by the standards of this bizarre island nation. He looked a lot like the comedian Woody Allen. He wore his thick black eyeglasses everywhere, even in the shower. Morty was always reading huge and very difficult books that no one had ever heard of and that did not even have "dirty" parts in them. Morty's father and mother worried about him a great deal. He was good in school, however -- except that he refused to take any business classes at his middle school, failing to display even the slightest interest in his father's business and earnings. True, Morty was not a trouble maker. Yet he was also not exactly "socially adept." He was described by everyone as very "weird," definitely not normal.
Although Morty was already in his early teens, he had only tried to kiss a girl once. The results had been disastrous. This was a young lady named "Edna Moscowitz," who had tied with him for first prize in an engineering competition sponsored by General Electric and who wore thick black eyeglasses of her own. In a spontaneous show of affection, Morty had attempted to kiss her, only to stab her, accidentally, in the chest with one of the pens in his front shirt pocket. Morty never went anywhere without at least thirty-two pens in his pocket. Needless to say, no matter where he went, he never wore a shirt that did not have a front pocket. Whenever you bring into close proximity persons with thirty-two pens in their pockets and others persons without pens in their pockets, the potential for injury is very high indeed.
For some reason, even after her injuries had been surgically repaired, Miss Moscowitz never returned Morty's calls. This was very depressing to him. Morty discussed the episode extensively with his Freudian analyst, who suggested that he join a gym and "adjust."
Soon it was time for Morty's "Bar Mitzvah." This is a ceremony in Judaism in which a child is welcomed, as an adult, into the Hebrew community. The term literally means "son of the commandment." Under Jewish Law, children are not obligated to observe the commandments, although they are encouraged to do so, so that they may learn the responsibilities that they will assume as adults. At the age of 13 (12 for girls), boys become obligated to observe the commandments in a formal ceremony. This ceremony is usually followed by a great party, ideally a party costing one's parents a fortune and many headaches. The opportunity to cause one's parents distress and expense is an added bonus of the experience for young people.
Although Morty had been an atheist since reading the works of Baruch Spinoza and Nietzsche's On the Genealogy of Morals at the age of seven, he did not wish to displease his family, so Morty went along with the whole thing. His mother was in charge of the invitations. She was a good woman, Esther, but no rocket scientist. She sent out all of the invitations and made the necessary arrangements for a fancy party afterwards in a nice restaurant near Central Park West, then she realized, the night before the party, that she had forgotten to send out an invitation to the strangest and most evil member of the family. This was an old crone who practised bizarre rituals and always dressed in black, whose name people only whispered, "Diana." Diana resided in the western suburbs of New Jersey ("Mafia Territory") and was known (unaffectionately) as "the Wicked Witch of the West." Diana was disliked and feared everywhere.
When the day of the celebration arrived, friends flew in from all over: some from overseas; others from the kingdom of Miami Beach; yet more arrived from the nearby principalities of New Jersey and Connecticut, where gambling was allowed. Somehow or other, Diana, who lived -- or so it was said -- in a mountain cave in Clifton, equipped with cable, learned of this event and was upset at being excluded. She deeply resented her cousin Esther, and absolutely loathed poor Morty. Diana fancied herself an "intellectual" after taking a correspondence course in world culture, but she recognized the boy's extraordinary intellect. Worse, she knew that she could never quite match up. This did not seem very fair to her. Yet all of her evil arts had failed to reverse the situation.
Diana arrived at the reception late. She had all kinds of problems getting through the tunnel on her broom and so did her flying monkeys. She was in a huff. A silence fell upon the gathering when she entered the restaurant. Summoning her full powers, Diana caused everyone to fall into a hypnosis-like sleep, she then shouted a curse before the "Bar Mitzvah" boy: "On your twenty-first birthday, you will touch 'evil words' and fall into a death-like sleep from which you will never awake, NEVER!"
With that Diana vanished in a puff of smoke -- taking a brown bag with some bagels first, just in case she got hungry on the way home -- and leaving behind only a faint whiff of sulfur, not to be seen or heard from again, until she ran for office a few years later as a Conservative-Anarchist on the Femi-Nazi line.
Suddenly, everyone awoke and felt much better, fully rested, unaware of what had been said. Diana had taken the precaution to provide a post-hypnotic (and post-magical) suggestion that her appearance and words be forgotten by all who heard them. Diana had not known, however, that among the guests was Morty's favorite uncle, a man he loved and respected, who also was a reader and a writer of books. Like all writers, therefore, Morty's uncle was also a great magician. Diana's dark magic had no power over him.
"Uncle Henry," known internationally as the famous novelist "Henry Bech" -- who had a new book coming out and had managed to get famous writers like Gore Vidal and John Updike to say nice things about it, who succeeded in having Norman Mailer punch him in the jaw, at least once, at a dinner party -- never laughed at Morty's love of books nor did he discourage Morty's literary interests. Like a child, Henry also liked to laugh and play. This is another characteristic of novelists. There was something dreamlike about Uncle Henry, even though he was very old, resembling that great wizard "Albus Dumbledore" in the improbable adventures of Harry Potter (except that, unlike Dumbledore, Henry's gray and curly hair was thin and he was clean shaven).
Uncle Henry's magic was powerful indeed. He cast a spell of his own, but so subtly and discreetly, that no one noticed. The best spells are like that. "Don't worry, Morty, you shall awake from this evil sleep, but only with the kiss of your true love and only then will you know what you must do with your life."
II.
"While many fairy tales stress great deeds the heroes must perform to become themselves, 'The Sleeping Beauty' emphasizes the long, quiet concentration on oneself that is also needed. ... While no ... noticeable state heralds the coming of sexual maturity in boys, many of them experience a period of lassitude and of turing inward during puberty which equals the female experience. It is thus understandable that a fairy story in which a long period of sleep begins at the start of puberty has been popular for a long time among girls and boys."
Bruno Bettelheim, The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales (New York: Vintage, 1977), p. 225.
Morty was a model student at his middle school called "The Center School," which was located not far from the Great Concert Halls of the city. He was the captain of the chess team; he was a member of the National Honor Society; and was active in progressive causes. He not only hoped to "save the whale," but also to rescue the endangered centipede, until he learned that it was not endangered at all, when he got really pissed off. Morty liked to play the clarinet. He continued to devour books, however, which no one in the family regarded as a good thing. After all, a little reading in school is O.K. It's the kind of thing to be expected in schools. It could not be healthy for Morty to read for hours at home or in the park, when other children were enjoying sports, or having sex, or engaging in juvenile crime.
When would Morty become a "normal" boy? Maybe he was gay? The family discussed these concerns with Morty's Freudian analyst, who suggested that Morty join a gym and "adjust." After graduating from middle school, Morty attended a very good high school in the southern portion of the kingdom, where he developed an interest in psychology and politics, excelled in sports (ping pong, that is), collected model trains, continuing to read voraciously. Morty also discovered an interest in poetry and a passion for Shakespeare. Naturally, Morty's parents took him to the Mayo Clinic for CAT scans and even to a psychoanalyst in Israel, who suggested that Morty join a gym and "adjust."
Morty's weirdness only increased. He was not interested in business. He refused to go to law school after graduating from university, with a "useless" degree in philosophy and humanities. Morty only wanted to read and write, maybe teach a little bit. Worse, there had not been any meaningful romantic relationship in his life. He was shy and rarely dated. On his twenty-first birthday, his much-suffering and deeply puzzled parents invited all of their friends to a big party at Tavern on the Green. Morty received many wonderful gifts that day, especially a treasured gift from one of his favorite aunts -- books always seemed to come from women or from Uncle Henry -- a huge volume of The Collected Works of William Shakespeare.
As Morty openned the book at random, delighting in that special fragance of new books and touching the pages with a joy that only book lovers know, he came accross a passage that he traced with his fingers on the page and whispered the lines to himself. When he finished reading, he fell into a deep sleep. It was a verse from "A Midsummer Night's Dream":
OBERON: "That very time I saw, -- but thou coulds't not, --
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all ar'md: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west;
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon;
And the imperial votaress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy free.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower, --
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, --
And maidens call it 'love-in-idleness.'
Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once:
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again
Ere the Leviathan can swim a league."
Everyone around him rushed to his side, Morty had fallen into a sleep and might have hurt himself. No one could awake him. The police were called and he was taken to the finest hospitals and was seen by the greatest specialists. Still, no one could help. He was "bewitched," they said. Modern science and medicine were helpless against this magic. Morty slept peacefully, with a beatific smile on his lips, oblivious to his surroundings and to all who came near.
Still holding his volume of Shakespeare's verse, since no one could pry it from his hands, Morty was permitted to keep the book with him and was taken home. He was placed on a white bed in his room -- a room that was kept clean, even as Morty was cared for by nurses hired by his parents. Both of these nurses spoke to him daily, whether they saw any hint of a response from him or not. He was fed and kept comfortable. Music played softly in his room, Mozart and Puccini seemed to make him happiest.
All attempts to awaken Morty had failed, until one day -- nearly twenty years after he had fallen into this trance -- Mr. and Mrs. Morgenstern had some guests for dinner. New neighbors had moved into their building and had heard of Morty's plight. Edna Moscowitz, Morty's "old flame," if that is the right word, was now a divorced mother of two lovely children, whose names were Juan and Maria. Edna was working as a film producer in the city. She remembered Morty fondly -- well, somewhat fondly -- and still had the scar that reminded her of their encounter, not to mention her trophy from the engineering competition. Happily, she now wore contacts. Edna's beautiful green eyes could finally be seen by the world. Actually, Morty kind of liked her glasses. Edna had blossomed into a strong and good woman.
She asked to be taken to Morty, thinking that she might be able to help. For a while, Edna sat next to Morty on the bed. By coincidence, she had exactly thirty-two pens in her front pocket. There was a slight stirring, as it were, from Morty. When Edna noticed the Shakespeare volume, she read the verse to which it was opened (for once Morty had let the book slip out of his hand!). Smiling, she turned the pages and read another verse, in a whisper, next to Morty's ear and then, gently kissed him. At that moment, and quite unintentionally, Edna pierced him with one of the pens in her pocket, causing some blood to flow. Suddenly, astonishingly, Morty began to awake. Sitting up in bed, Morty looked at everyone in the room -- especially Edna -- and said: "What's for breakfast? I'm so hungry."
III.
"The fact that we encounter our woundedness most frequently in two contexts, religion and relationship, goes a long way toward explaining the close parallels between romantic love and the love of God. It also suggests the reason for our ambivalence regarding intimacy, for to become intimate means to expose our wound. ... The fundamental need of the soul in any relationship is union with another person. This cannot take place unless we open our wounds to one another. ..."
John R. Haule, Pilgrimage of the Heart: The Path of Romantic Love (Boston & London: Shambhala, 1990), pp. 76-77, 80-81 ("Love's Wound").
After Morty came home from the emergency room on the night that he awoke (he only needed seven stitches), he invited Edna out to dinner. Almost immediately, he began to sell short stories to magazines and was working on a script for a friend in the movie business. Morty had some money to share with his family. This allowed his parents to stop worrying about him. And he just loved the children, Juan and Maria. Morty enjoyed playing with the children and talking to them for hours. Edna had great advice to give on career options and she was good with money. Morty turned over all of his finances to her. They just knew right away that they were meant to be together.
Edna explained to friends that "Morty is not much to look at, but he has a good heart and he makes me laugh. Plus, he has so much love to give." Unfortunately, she took away his pens and made him wear shirts without a front pocket. Otherwise, Morty was blissfully happy. At their wedding, Rabbi Blitstein explained the symbolism of the shattered glass bound in cloth. Morty and Edna had scars to point to and could not help smiling at one another at that point in the ceremony. They both knew that love is what binds us to one another in pain and frailty. In a harsh world, we cling to one another, especially those of us who have been hurt early in life, recognizing those childhood wounds in one another right away. Morty then recalled the words that Edna had whispered in his ear when he first awoke from his trance:
TITANIA: "Come, my lord; and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night
That I sleeping here was found,
With these mortals on the ground."
The children wore lovely formal attire to the wedding ceremony and enjoyed themselves a great deal at the reception, playing "hide-and-seek" with Uncle Henry. Everyone was delighted with the way things turned out. Now Morty was merely "eccentric," just like everybody else in the family. Morty figured out that he was meant to write books and that he could still make Edna happy. Also, Morty discovered that -- while he was a very strange person -- so were most other people, even those who seemed utterly normal, especially the utterly normal!
Best of all, the qualities which made Morty strange to everyone else, were exactly the things that Edna liked best about him. Morty felt free to be himself with Edna. In the end, of course, love's greatest gift to any of us is the permission that it gives us to be who and what we must be, which is simply ourselves. As you may have guessed, Morty and Edna lived happily ever after.
