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The Maiden Who Was Too Sensitive
for this World
A Story for Youths, Young Adults and Adults
in which a Young Maiden Goes out into the World
and finds Inner Strength, Divine Guidance,
Reconciliation and Transformation
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The Maiden who was too Sensitive for this World has something of the fable in it, but it is a story for our times, and has a great deal to say to people of our day, young or old. Youths and young adults will enjoy the "going out into the world" aspect of the story, and be excited by the possibilities for "anything is possible" which it represents. Adults will enjoy being transported back to youth, when life just begins and the journey is new. All will thrill to the vision of a world which is changed for the better by the young maiden, the events she encounters, her openness to her inner self and the Divine, and the courageous, life-enhancing decisions she makes, based upon guidance from within.

This guidance comes to her in the form of three guardian spirits: that of her earthly father, her guardian angel, and the spirit of God. Oh, if we all could all be so trusting, open and courageous as our young maiden as regards guidance from within… Well, perhaps we can! We are never to young or to old to learn, grow, and be guided. We are never too old to transform our lives, relationships or world, as this delightful story proves.

Please, sit down in a comfortable chair, relax, open your mind and heart, and prepare to experience a world of youth, optimism, personal and planetary transformation in this delightful tale!

 

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Excerpt from Book:

Chapter One

Once upon a time lived a maiden who was simply too sensitive for this world, or so she was told.

"You are too sensitive for this world," her haughty stepmother said to her so often, that the words regularly echoed in the maiden's young mind, in nearly every situation in which the young lady found herself.

"Toughen up, girl!" the stepmother would often bark, "This world isn't for softies!"

Now the maiden's father was rather different in his treatment of her. He loved her very much, you see, and she had felt ever so safe when she had been a little girl, sitting on his lap, in his library full of books, listening to his kindly words. She loved to come and visit him when he was in the midst of his work as a writer, and he was never too busy to see her and bestow upon her fatherly affection. Though he was terribly beset with work, as writers are wont to be, he always had time for his little girl, and always made her feel that she was just perfect as she was.

After the incessant negative comments of her stepmother, this kindly treatment by her father was a wonderful blessing and truly a revelation to the young maiden.

When the young girl, came from her fathers study, smiling and feeling very loved, her stepmother would stand in the hallway, her hands upon her hips in a petulant way, and remark, " Hmmmph! Your father! He's a fine one for you to listen to. The two of you are chips off the old block!"

"Your father wouldn't make it in this world at all, if it weren't for the likes of me!" the stepmother would continue, on a roll. "I am tough, you see. And you, young lady, are just like your father! If you don't toughen up, the world is going to eat you up, just like a ginger snap!"

Then the stepmother would often say something like "Now speaking of ginger snaps, you may have some. They are on the table," for she was not all meanness, and often mitigated her scolding with such contradictory gifts. For in reality, she loved the little girl too, but was simply not able to show it in the free way her husband did. For you see, this is how she had been raised herself, very strictly, and the poor stepmother had a great deal of difficulty escaping behaving the way she had seen her parents behave.

The young maiden, of course, loved to visit her father the best, for he was the kindest. And felt, somehow, that her stepmother was rather mean, always scolding her. Yet deep down inside, she wondered, "Am I too sensitive, too indulgent with myself? Do I need to toughen up?"

Oh, how she struggled with the too views of the world presented by her parents, one practical and "tough," the other rose-tinted and full of stories, dreams, books, and tales. It made her rather grown up at a rather early age, thinking of and weighing such things in her mind. She tried not to think of it too often, and just play and be a little girl. But there it was, so often. She could not escape it, for her parents were of course, the primary figures in her life.

Yes, even when the little girl became nearly grown, a "maiden" as the people of the village called girls of her age, she still heard two voices in her head. One was her kindly father's which reassured her, "You are good, and being sensitive is good." This was the voice which encouraged her to write and to paint, and to do all manner of things which her stepmother would have called a waste of time.

And then there was the voice of her stepmother, which told her "you'll never amount to anything if you continue to be a dreamer!"

True, the maiden was not much different than when she had been a little girl. She was now and had always been a dreamer. In this her stepmother was definitely correct, she and her father were "chips off the old block."

She had loved to draw, to paint, and to make up stories since she had been a little girl. It was true as well that these things were not terribly "practical" when viewed with practical eyes. Her father's writings did not bring much money into the household. Would the maiden's talents and abilities enable her to support herself or her family when she made her way into the world?

"Perhaps," thought the young maiden, "my stepmother is right. Perhaps I shall come to no good. A dreamer I am: a teller of tales, a painter of pictures." Yes, sensitive she was, perhaps too sensitive for this world. And, if her stepmother was right, the world did not value her talents. And, worse yet, without someone practical like her stepmother around, the young maiden might well flounder and do poorly in the "work-a-day world."

The maiden worried over this possibility, and yet, she knew deep inside that there was a part of herself which was "tough," that her stepmother did not see. There was a part of her which in an almost stubborn way clung to the ways of a dreamer- painting, writing, creating.

One day, when the maiden came into her father's study to visit, she found her father sleeping in his chair. She thought, "Oh, my father is taking a little nap. He has worked so hard!" But when she went to rouse him she found he did not awaken. Her father, who was quite elderly by now, had simply drifted off into eternal sleep in the middle of writing a story.

Well, the maiden's heart was broken. Her father had been the light of her life, and now he was gone. Her father was gone, and she had not made her way into the world of adults and practicality. She had stayed in her room and all she had to show for her life was her dreams and a trunk full of stories and paintings.

She was kind and good; she knew this from her father's constant affirmation of her gentle spirit. And, in her own way, like a very famous poetess who also stayed in her room in her father's house, she had shown kindness to those around her and was know for this. Like the famous poet, she was known in her neighborhood as an eccentric and loving soul. All the neighborhood children came to visit her and hear her stories, and she enchanted them!

They were indeed lovely stories. But the young maiden knew that she could not stay at home and live with her stepmother, who without the mitigating kindness of her father would prove to be too formidable of a foe. She must make her way into the world.

"But how shall I do it?" she ruminated. "Perhaps I am too sensitive for this world!" She thought this to herself, she even said it aloud, and it was then that the rather tough, stubborn, inner quality (that her stepmother could not see) kicked in. The maiden screwed up her courage, put her manuscripts and paintings into a satchel, and gathered a few more things for the road.

Walking downstairs, she told her stepmother, "I am leaving to make my way in the world. Perhaps I am too sensitive, as you say. Or, perhaps I shall find my own way, my own special way, of traveling through life. Either way, I bid you love, my stepmother." And with that, after noticing but not being distracted by the look of astonishment on the face of her stepmother, she walked out the door.

The stepmother stood, mouth agape, not knowing what to say. Finally, all she could think to say was "Hmmph. She'll be back. She's too sensitive for this world!"

2003, Michael D. Purvis

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