Circle round, and I’ll tell you a story about how the Maypole came to be…
Once upon a time, a long time ago – or maybe in a time not yet come – there came a springtime when no flowers bloomed.
The plum trees and cherry trees showed no white or pink or red blossoms. No daffodils pushed up from the cold ground; no buds formed on the roses. No lilacs perfumed the air, and no poppies opened their bright petals to the wind. And the worst thing of all was that nobody seemed to notice.
Except for one young girl, named Vivian.
“Where are the flowers?” Vivian asked everyone she met, and everyone looked at her strangely.
“Flowers? What flowers?” asked the woman who delivered their mail, “I don’t have time to worry about flowers – I’ve got a route to cover.”
“Maybe she means flour,” said the man who ran the corner shop, “Maybe she wants to bake a cake.”
“I’ve heard of flowers,” said the woman at the library, “I know I’ve seen a reference to them somewhere.”
“I’ve got a great computer game with flowers,” said her brother, “Who needs to dig in the dirt when you can grow your own virtual garden?”
“Maybe she needs to go to bed early,” said her mother, “Perhaps she’s coming down with something.”
“Doesn’t anyone miss the flowers?” Vivian cried.
“She’s confused,” said her teacher, “We must be kind to her.”
“She’s ill,” said her doctor, “We must cure her.”
“She’s loony!” said the other boys and girls, and they made fun of her until Vivian got so mad she ran out of her schoolyard into the deep woods.
She ran and ran until she couldn’t run any more. She flung herself down in a patch of grass and began to cry.
“Nobody loves me!” she cried, “Nobody cares about the flowers! Nobody cares about me!”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” said a small voice by her ear. Vivian lifted her head and saw a tiny, scruffy, shabby little dandelion. Its petals were tattered, its stem was bent, and it looked like it might collapse at any moment. But it was the only flower she had seen all spring, and she was thrilled down to her toes.
“Oh, dandelion!” she cried, “I’m so happy to see you. You are so beautiful!”
“Not really,” the dandelion said modestly, but it perked up.
“Why aren’t there any flowers this spring? Why doesn’t anyone miss them?” Vivian asked.
“Exactly,” the dandelion said, “Nobody misses the flowers, so why should we bloom? Some kind of love has gone out of the world, and so the earth spirits are sick and the flowers have disappeared. But with the right kind of love, you can call them back again.”
“What kind of love?” Vivian asked.
But the dandelion only said, “Do you really think I’m beautiful? After all, I’m the most common of flowers.”
“I think you’re gorgeous!” Vivian said.
The dandelion sighed, “Then I can die happy!” It collapsed on the ground, and one by one its petals shriveled and faded.
“Poor flower!” Vivian mourned, “You really were beautiful!” But she sat up and dried her tears. For now she knew that if she could only find the right kind of love, she could bring the flowers back.
Vivian dried her eyes and went home.
“Oh, Vivian! I was so worried about you,” cried her mother.
“I was looking for you everywhere!” said her father.
“I was surfing the Web, trying to locate you,” said her brother.
“Do you love me?” Vivian asked.
“Of course,” said her parents.
“I guess,” said her brother.
“Then help me bring the flowers back! Help me find the right kind of love.”
Her parents shrugged and raised their eyebrows, but they followed Vivian down into the town. Her brother rolled his eyes, but he came, too.
“Vivian! Where did you go?” cried all the boys and girls.
“I went to find the flowers. And now I know that if we can find the right kind of love, we can bring them back!”
“Flowers, always flowers!” said one of the girls, “You’ve got flowers on the brain!”
“She’s distressed,” said the teacher, “We must be patient with her.”
“She’s disturbed,” said the doctor, “We must humor her.”
And so they let Vivian form them all into a circle in the center of town. They held hands and closed their eyes, but nothing happened.
“The circle isn’t big enough,” Vivian cried, “We need more kinds of love!”
“I’ll go get my Uncle Donald and Uncle Rick!” cried one of the girls, “They love each other”
“Do you think their kind of love can bring the flowers back?” hooted one of the boys.
“We need all kinds of love,” Vivian said, “We don’t know what kind of love is the right kind of love.”
“I’ll get my boyfriend,” cried the older sister of one of Vivian’s friends.
“I’ll get my mothers,” said one of the boys, “They love each other, and they love me, too.”
“I love my job,” said the woman who carried the mail, stepping into the circle, “I love bringing letters to people.”
“I love my neighborhood,” said the grocer, taking her hand.
“I love the trees,” said an old woman who lived in the woods.
“I love to read,” said the librarian.
“I love my garden,” said a tall man carrying a spade.
“I love my dog!” said a very small boy.
“Your dog!” All the children laughed, “You think your dog will bring back the flowers?”
“My dog loves me better than any of you,” the boy said, and he ran to get him.
The circle grew larger and larger.
“It’s still not big enough!” Vivian cried.
“No circle of love can ever be big enough to hold all forms of love,” she heard a voice say. Holding her hand was a beautiful woman, her hair crowned will all the flowers of spring, her eyes deep as wells and dancing with light like the sparkling surface of a laughing stream. Her face was old and young at the same time, and it seemed to change before Vivian’s eyes. One moment she was dark as a velvet pansy, in the next she was pale as a white lily. She was young and fresh and smooth as a newly opened rose, and then ancient and wrinkled as a walnut.
“Who are you?” Vivian asked.
“I am the Goddess,” the woman said, “The Queen of May. You have called me back from the Otherworld with your circle of love.”
“Then we did find the right kind of love after all!” Vivian cried joyfully.
The May Queen smiled. “There is no right kind of love,” she said, “The Goddess blesses all forms of love. Whenever you join together in a circle with love and trust, you call me.”
“Then how do we bring the flowers back?” Vivian asked.
“Here’s what you must do,” the May Queen said. She pointed to the center of the circle, where a tall pole stood. “My tree of life has become a dead stick – but you can bring it to life again. Make a circle of your arms, as if your were trying to hug the air.” Vivian did, and found herself hugging a big silver ring. “That is my circle of rebirth – tie it to the top of the tree and set the pole in the ground.” She tossed her head, and from her hair shining ribbons of a hundred colors fell to the ground. “And here are the ribbons of love. Tie each one to the ring of life - for each ribbon stands for a different kind of love, and without all of them, my circle is not whole.”
“Here is the love parents have for their children…”
“And here is the love you have for your best friend…”
“And here is the passionate love two women can have for each other…”
“And here is the love you have for your grandparents…”
“And here is the love you have for a pet…”
“And here is the love and passion a woman and a may have between them…"
“And here is the love you have for a friend that you fought with and then made up with…”
“And here is wild, devoted love between men…”
“And here is the love you have for a really great teacher…”
“And here is the love you have for your brothers and sisters…”
“And here is the love you have for your sisters and brothers when they’re driving you crazy…”
“And here is the love you have for your aunties and uncles…”
“And here is the love for music and for art…”
“And here is the love that generates children and calls new souls…”
“And here is the love people have for each other when they work hard together…”
“And here is the love that generates new ideas…”
“Take hold of my ribbons, dance around my tree, wrap the tree of life in love, and the flowers will bloom again.
And so the people built a maypole and danced the maypole dance all through the day. And as they danced, white and pink blossoms popped out on the plum trees and cherry trees. Daffodils pushed up from the ground, and buds formed on the roses. Lilacs perfumed the air, and poppies opened their bright petals to the wind.
When the dance was over, the May Queen gathered all the children close to her.
“I must leave you now,” she said, “but the flowers will remain in all their different shapes and scents and colors, to remind you to honor all forms of love. And because it was a child whose love brought me back, I will give you children three gifts: that many kinds of love will come to you, each in the right time; that you will be able to say yes to the love that is right for you; that you will be free to say no to the love that is not right for you. For while all love is blessed, only you can know what kinds of love are right for you. And now I must leave, but every year, when you dance the Maypole, I will be with you, whether you can see me or not. For in that way, I am just like love.”
And at that she disappeared.
But the flowers remained through the whole summer. And ever after, when the spring came, the people danced the Maypole with bright ribbons in honor of the flowers and all the colors of love.
