Skica za mali essay
"A man is what he believes in." (AP Chekhov)
For the Christmas tree
Fairy tales are precious, irreplaceable parts, almost unavoidable boulders of our childhood. They remain with us ever since. Until the end of their lives, those who, as very young children, were read fairy tales by their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, talked about them, and lulled them to sleep with them are spiritually rich - so that later, in their first school years, they would discover them further themselves. In order to - so that we - preserve them within ourselves.
Fairy tales are by no means lies, fabrications, or even dreams. They are part of a multifaceted reality, records, creations of the mind that become authentic pearls only if we delve into the mysterious past, into imagination, into ourselves. Fairy tales are our motives, memories that last, that are translated into works. Into creativity, into art. They make us stronger, braver, more resilient, better, more tolerant, more moral, more noble. They bring us love, joy, knowledge, and often revelations. They enable us - even when we are not aware of it - to survive in this difficult reality, to save ourselves, to move on. Not to walk on the clouds, but to observe and understand earthly events from them, from that height, as completely and accurately as possible. To believe in what does not exist externally but dwells within us. Fairy tales provide us with light and beauty, even in darkness, in storms and other misfortunes, in a gray foreign land. They give life and phenomena meaning and purpose. Fairy tales help us to recognize evil, hatred, malice, envy - to defeat them, to try to subordinate them to justice, truth, humanity. Fairy tales are lovely, subtle, wonderfully magical and divinely attractive, but, not infrequently, sometimes cruel. Sometimes ice, sometimes fire. Heights and lowlands. Luxurious castles and poor huts. Sky and water. Honey and honey. Roses and thorns. Sun and shadow. Forests and wastelands. Witches and princesses. Sweet and sour, even poisonous. Dwarves and giants, nobility and servants, heroes and cowards... As a rule, at the end they offer us, invoke happiness, instill positive energy, cheerfulness, at least hope.
Fairy tales are myths, legends, history without tangible facts. Of course, in addition to the birth of children, there are other wonderful, fairy-tale events in life - usually of too short duration! - for example, strong affection between two people, exotic travels that captivate, and the like. But that is a completely different story.
I think that fairy tales are not worth reading for the first time only in maturity, in old age, when we have become coarse, when we are overwhelmed by various experiences, worries above all. Fairy tales are healing only when they are our earliest memories, wonderful, soft mental silk in the head, in the eyes, in the soul - our ancient need and shelter. Fairy tales are a charming protective shell of our heart, gentle music, images of our growing up. A clear paradise that alleviates our unrest, illnesses and all kinds of losses. A reflection that rounds out and makes easier, when the inevitable end comes.
PS And here, outside this winter - a white January idyll. A snowy, true winter fairy tale that brings hardship and trouble to some, while for little ones it is a gift for play and mischief. The winter fairy tale haunts many, at the end of their lives, nostalgically - and as if, on the one hand, it rejuvenates them mentally for a shade, and on the other, it causes them anguish and physical pain.
The author is a full professor at the Faculty of Law, University of Belgrade
Bonus video:
