Psychologist Yulia Rubleva reflects on our states after breakups, divorces and breakups.
There once was a poor woman, and she had nothing. She lived in an old hut, for lunch she had hot water in a chipped mug, and for dinner she had cold water. Sometimes her cat would bring her a bird for dinner, but most of the time she got her own food by sitting on the seashore and trying to catch fish with an old net.
For as long as she could remember, she lived in an old hut by the sea. Her parents died when she was little, she was raised by her own aunt, who died a few years ago, she had no friends, she felt ugly and useless, she did not learn the craft, considering herself clumsy, she was bored playing with the neighboring children, and she considered it dangerous to go beyond the outskirts and walk through the surrounding meadows and fields.
She really loved two things in the world - watching the sun rise over the sea, and combing her long blond hair the color of darkened gold at sunset, going to bed.
Opposite her hut was a cheerful little house, decorated with flowers and birds, in which another woman lived. When she was young, her lover died, then her parents died, and since then she has lived alone. In the mornings, from her house to the windows of the poor woman came the smell of rich sweet buns, and the hostess herself was a match for them, a laughter woman who always called guests and had half the village as friends.
A cheerful neighbor baked the most delicious pies in the world and fed them to the whole district, the pies were with apples, fish, cabbage and jam. From time to time she went on long journeys, and upon her return, the pies became even tastier, and the neighbor explained that she was leaving to study the intricacies of baking and pie science. She had a white horse, and our poor woman often saw her cheerful neighbor harness her horse and gallop out of the village, just to take a walk, and see what new flowers had grown in the spring. Sometimes she complained to the poor woman that she did not have a minute, and her life was so filled with all sorts of interesting things that there was no time even to sleep.
Most of all, the cheerful neighbor loved two things: to look at the fire of a distant lighthouse at night and knead the dough with cinnamon.
One windy March night, they both had almost identical dreams.
Our poor woman had a dream of her dead aunt and said: “Anna, I want to give you a present. I give you four weeping willow baskets. They are the same and you can use them as you like, but remember that you cannot put anything material there, only what happens to you and only what brings you joy. The rule is very strict: all four must always be filled!” The aunt frowned, the smell of herbal tea she drank at night was heard, and everything disappeared.
Her cheerful neighbor dreamed of her dead lover, who told her: “Maria, dear. I brought you four vine baskets, it's a gift. You can't put your beautiful cakes or apples or ribbons or lipsticks in there, but you can put what you love more than anything in the world. And remember that all four should always be filled!” He kissed her softly on the lips and disappeared.
The next morning, perfectly woven, comfortable, durable and light baskets stood on the thresholds of their homes. Our poor woman and her neighbor shared their dreams with each other, marveled at the miracle, and parted, because they did not know how to fill the baskets with what they love. The baskets were placed under the benches.
And went about their business: the neighbor began to bake a particularly sophisticated meat pie with rice and orange peels, and the poor woman unraveled the net tangled last morning in cold spring water.
By evening, both looked under the benches - just like that, to admire the baskets and screamed. In one of the baskets, Anna saw a brand new strong fishing net (Anna still untangled her old one), in Maria's basket she saw the ghost of a new pie, which she called "Royal".
After six months, both Anna and Maria got used to filling their baskets with everything that pleases them. Mary's baskets were overflowing. In one of them lay her friendship with good comrades, the support of her friends, treats for neighbor's children and holidays with neighbors, fun gatherings, laughter and secrets of girlfriends. The other contained her pies and puffs, new dough recipes, a special flour for blackberry pie, the smell of sweet cinnamon buns, her training in cooking and pie-making, and the thin parchment paper from the royal factory that Maria dreamed of. In her third basket were rides on a little white horse over a damp dark log and a distant green meadow, a sailboat on the horizon, dreams of distant lands and magical journeys, a mysterious lighthouse fire at night in the sea, and the smell of cinnamon that reminded her of her mother.
Anna's baskets were empty. A few sunrises in one, a few brand new fishing nets in another, a gingerbread for the neighbor's boy in the third.
And only one basket of both women was filled in the same way. It was a basket for love and love affairs, and at the bottom of each of the two baskets imprints of fantasies gleamed, it smelled of perfume and dreams, dreams shimmered and hope mysteriously shone. The love baskets were almost empty, and how do you fill them when there are several married fishermen and several decrepit grandfathers in the whole village?
In October, when the last warm autumn sunsets were dying down, a small boat entered the bay, two people were rowing in it. One, young, with a mocking face, named Murad, was a descendant of the Ottomans, wandered for a long time as a hired sailor across all oceans, hired a brigantine, got into a storm and barely escaped. His older comrade, with a smoky profile and a scar on his left cheek, had some business with the authorities of the local district, either wanted to sell spices, or wine, or silk, smoked a pipe and was silent. His name was Jean. Coming ashore, they asked to stay in both houses right on the shore, and there they stayed, each for a month.
Every morning our girls' love basket was overflowing. For Maria and Murad, these were hugs, kisses and other sensual experiences, cheerful breakfasts right in bed, trips together on a white horse over a dark log and a green meadow and in a small boat to distant islands. Anna and Jean had conversations about the Universe and the stars, about why the sunrises are pink and the sunsets are red, and there were kisses and hugs too. They abandoned the rest of the baskets - the love basket became the largest and most necessary.
So all four lived until the icy winter wind blew, the snow swept up, and the windows were covered with very thin ice from the outside. Then the men brought a wagon from somewhere and left for the city, to talk with the authorities about silk or spices, and our girls were left alone.
Everything fell out of their hands, and when Christmas passed, Anna knocked on Mary's door. “Let's wait until spring,” Maria whispered, hugging her sad neighbor.
Until spring, their baskets remained empty. And love, and all the rest. Mary's pies came out of the oven hard and bitter, but Anna did not catch any fish. Neighbors sometimes brought them gingerbread or porridge, Maria did not let her friends in again, Anna cut her hair the color of darkened gold. Spring came, and then summer, and the men never returned, and there was no news from them.
One day at sunset, when Mary and Anna were sitting on the porch of Anna's old hut, they saw a strange woman. It was not clear where she came from, as she rose from the bay, where all roads ended, and walked past them along the path. The woman was not from the locals, and hardly even from the city, - multi-colored overseas clothes were blown in the wind. She walked quickly and passed by without stopping, but that same night she dreamed of both of them in a dream.
“At first, one of you was poor,” she said calmly, “and Anna had nothing. Now you both have nothing, and Maria too. Your love is worth a lot, but why is it now possible to say about each of you "there was a poor woman and she had nothing"? - and she smiled. “Fill your baskets, girls,” she added, “fill all your four baskets always, always, no matter how difficult it may be for you. In one, dreams, secrets, plans and dreams, in the other - friends and loved ones, for whom a lot of heart is needed, in the third - your Business, which will feed you and inspire you, and in the fourth - love when it happens to you. In the meantime, there can be warmth, gratitude, gratitude, light sadness at the bottom of a love basket, and at the very bottom, let hope quietly glow.”
And, waving a colored hem, the stranger disappeared from their dreams and never again dreamed of two neighbors. Since then, every morning from the window of Maria's house, the wonderful smells of sweet buns still wafted, and Anna learned to weave the best fishing nets in the world, for which boats came from distant islands. They lived comfortably and merrily, sometimes they were sad for the departed men, but soon Maria married her old widowed friend who lived across the house, and the owner of the fishing boat wooed Anna, and their weddings went on for three days and three nights.
"Once upon a time there was one woman and she had nothing" - this is our state after partings, divorces and breakups. Therefore, fill all your four baskets always, always, as no matter how hard it is for you. In one, dreams, secrets, plans and dreams, in the other - friends and loved ones, for whom a lot of heart is needed, in the third - your Business, which will feed you and inspire you, and in the fourth - love when it happens to you. In the meantime, let hope shine quietly at the bottom of this basket.