LEGEND OF THE TRINKET

Flowers.

Tired of the fiest on his honour , on the 24th February, Dragobete had a rest on a fir tree bed under an old oak. Dragobete , or Stormy , is the love god at Romanians, everybody knows it. Even the children. He was not sleeping when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Looking behind he saw a branch hooked of his cloth.
-What is this? What happened? The young asked surprised.
-Don`t be afraid, it`s time to tell you a secret, the old tree told him.
-Can`t you postpone? I`m tired. I want a rest.
-No, I can`t. Tomorrow I`ll be sacrified, the people surround me will cut me because I am too old. The people don`t respect the forest, they don`t consider it sacred, as their forerunners did and I don`t want to be lost the story.
-Which one?
The Legend of the Trinket. Do you know it?
-No, I didn`t hear it.
-Now listen to it, but don`t interrupt me not to lose the thread of the story.
-I`ll listen to you attentively, you know I think much of you.
When there happened what I want to tell , the forest was as a temple and among its vivid pillars the wandering wind penetrated gaily bearing the stories from one ground edge to the other. So, the story arrived at me. Not to be lost, I`ve hidden it in the roots like a precious treasure. A secret treasure for the people followers who lived on these saint places –the Dacians.
Some days later from the Love Fiest, the fiest devoted to you , Dragobete. The twilight surrounded slowly the forest , the snow began to melt, and the forest scents charmed and troubled the people with serene heart.All the people were waiting even I felt a thrill inside. Drasgobete listened charmed. His eyes were half shut and the heart pulsated madly. As in a dream he heard the story going on. What I`m going to story happened long ago in a night of February. There were some hours and people had to pass over the threshold to the next month-March.The Mount was bathed in the silver rays of the Moon. And the stars brightness reflected in thousands crystals of the snow. Sometimes the silence was interrupted by an unexpected fall of a fir cone. I have not been sleeping yet I meditated at the Spring coming. Then I was young , my buds were ready to get leaves, already, somewhere in the valley cornel trees flourished. And staying and thinking I felt a warmy wind, which penetrated among fir trees shaking the snow on the branches. There is the dawn, the sky began to be reddish to the East , a sign that there was no more until the sun was rising. Sincerely speaking I didn`t feel when night was over , the last night of the February . When I have recovered it was already the 1st March.
Still dizzy I heard a sound that was strange in the silence before the sun rising. Firstly I thought it was the wind but the sound resembled to a groan, someone was asking for help. I didn`t see but the snow blanket set all over. Could have been the murmur of the brook at the rock foot? Could have been the wind that gamboled among the trees crowns? I couldn`t realize .
When the sound became lower I noticed by my trunk , a very beautiful virgin. She was delicate , with a white face as the marble, with goldish hair on the shoulders, long and blond eyelashes which hid two eyes, blue as the violets. Her leg was short and delicate and the whole being emanated heat, love and a discreet scent . On her shoulders she wore a mantle in the emerald colour, on which flowers, butterflies, and birds, as vivid ones, were painted and on her head she wore an eternal flowers crown. She seemed from another world. I felt her body to be hot and.. oh, my Lord , for a moment I thought I am a man but when I wanted to embrass her, I realized I was powerless. The flood of the inner substance ran madly, from roots to the top. I needed some moments to recover. Then I realized the sound came from a white bell, risen above the snow and what appeared to be a groan was , in fact, the triumph song. The delicate bell pierced the snow in order to announce the Spring coming.
-Do you understand, Dragobete? The girl that embrassed my trunk , transferring of her heat, was a Fairy. The Spring Fairy. The splendid song was heard by her , but poor snowdrop, this was the name of the bell, rose under a thorny bush. Happily and full of compassion for the frail snowdrop she began to get off the thorny branches. Winter , put on nerves, called for the north wind which breathed over the snowdrop .. and froze it. The mild Spring covered the frail bell with its warmed palms. But , not being attentively the Fairy hurt in a thorn and a drop of blood got on the snowdrop. The heat of the blood gave powers to the flower to recover. So , winter was overcome. Since then , the red in the Trinket cord symbolizes the Spring blood…got down on the snow whiteness.
The wise people say in the meaning of the legend there is the truth. Who wants to know it, may know

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Anunțuri

1 MARTIE-MĂRŢIŞORUL LA ROMÂNI

martisoare

1 Martie, zi de bucurie în tradiţia românească, mărţişorul reprezentând venirea primăverii care aduce bucurie, prospeţime, reînnoire, victoria soarelui asupra gerului iernii. Femeile şi fetele primesc mărţişoare considerate ca un fel de talismane aducătoare de noroc dar şi purtătoare de iubire. După unii, roşul este considerat culoarea primăverii, iar albul, culoarea iernii. Floarea cu care se asociază această sărbătoare este ghiocelul, fiind o floare gingaşă de un alb pur. Şnurul mărţişorului este format din două fire de mătase, alb şi roşu, împletite asemenea ADN-ului reprezentând Spirala vieţii, a Infinitului şi a Nemuririi. Roşul însemnând Iubirea, iar albul, Divinitatea.
Sărbătoarea Mărţişorului simbolizează renaşterea vieţii, reîntoarcerea la viaţă. La sate, pe când eram copii, mama ne lega şnurul mărţişorului cu bănuţul de argint dăruit de moaşă la naşterea noastră şi-l purtam la gât ca pe o amuletă care ne ferea de boli şi deochi.

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Mărţişorul se purta toată luna martie, apoi şnurul era agăţat într-un pom înflorit, crezându-se ferm, că tot astfel de frumos şi înfloritor, va fi şi cel care l-a purtat. An de an, de 1 martie, ne recăpătăm speranţa, optimismul, credinţa în mai bine şi…sporul în toate, chiar şi în bunătatea personală, în actele de binefacere. Gerul se împleteşte cu razele soarelui, lumina cu întunericul, ca într-o tandră îmbrăţişare din care se va naşte Primăvara, acest triumf al renaşterii şi regenerării, simbolizat prin mărţişor: mărţişorul pe care-l dăruim celor dragi, cu adâncă preţuire, ca semn că le dorim fericire şi noroc.       10966970_908665445834969_1140386338_n

Există o legendă frumoasă legată de mărţişor. Se spune că, în prima zi a lunii martie, zâna primăvară a ieşit la marginea unei păduri. Era obosită întrucât se grăbise a veni deşi Iarna nu se lăsa dusă. Cum stătea sprijinită de un copac a zărit în poiană, un ghiocel abia ieşit de sub zăpadă dar acoperit de o tufă spinoasă. De bucurie şi plină de compasiune pentru ghiocelul atât de plăpând s-a apucat să îndepărteze ramurile spinoase ce umbreau ghiocelul. Înfuriată , Iarna a chemat crivăţul care a suflat asupra ghiocelului şi l-a îngheţat. Blânda Primăvară a acoperit ghiocelul cu palmele ei încălzite. Din nebăgare de seamă s-a rănit într-un spin şi o picătura de sânge s-a prelins pe ghiocel. Căldura sângelui a dat puteri florii să reînvie. Astfel, Iarna a fost învinsă.

legenda ghiocelului

Roşul din şnurul Mărţişorului mai simbolizează şi sângele Primăverii căzut pe albul zăpezii.

LA MULŢI ANI DE MĂRŢIŞOR!

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Ilustraţii de Mirela Rusu Pete

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