LEGEND OF THE TRINKET

1Martiemartisor

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

Autor: Floarea Cărbune

Sursă poze:Google

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Anunțuri

Legenda Mărțișorului

 

copacIlustraţie de MIRELA RUSU PETE

Obosit de petrecerea dată în cinstea lui pe 24 februarie, Dragobete se odihnea pe un pat de cetină, aflat sub poala unui bătrân stejar. Dragobete, zis şi Năvalnic, este zeul iubirii la români, o ştie tot omul. Până şi copiii o ştiu.
Încă nu adormise, când a simţit că cineva îl bate pe umăr. Privind în spate, a zărit o creangă agăţată de straiul său.
– Ce-i, ce s-a întâmplat? a întrebat voinicul surprins.
– Nu te speria, e timpul să-ţi împărtăşesc o taină, l-a liniştit bătrânul arbore.
– Nu poţi amâna? Sunt obosit, vreau să mă odihnesc.
– Nu, nu pot amâna. Mâine voi fi sacrificat, sătenii mă vor tăia pe motiv că sunt prea bătrân. Oamenii nu mai respectă pădurea, n-o mai consideră sacră, aşa cum au considerat-o strămoşii lor şi nu vreau să se piardă povestea.
– Ce poveste?
– Legenda mărţişorului. O ştii?
– Nu n-am auzit-o.
– Atunci ascult-o, dar să nu mă întrerupi, ca să pierd firul poveştii.
– Te ascult cu atenţie, ştii că te preţuiesc!
În vremea când s-au petrecut cele ce urmează a-ţi împărtăşi, pădurea era un templu, prin ale cărui coloane vii, vântul hoinar se strecura voios, purtând poveştile de la o margine de pământ, la alta. Aşa a ajuns povestea şi la mine. Ca să nu se piardă, am ascuns-o în rădăcini, ca pe o comoară de preţ. O comoară tainică pentru urmaşii poporului care vieţuia pe aceste sfinte meleaguri – dacii.
Trecuseră câteva zile de la Sărbătoarea Iubirii, sărbătoarea închinată ţie, Dragobete. Înserarea învăluise pe nesimţite pădurea, zăpada începea să se topească, iar miresmele pădurii îi fermecau şi-i tulburau pe cei cu inima sensibilă. Întreaga suflare era în aşteptare, chiar şi eu simţeam un freamăt în adâncuri.
Dragobete asculta vrăjit. Avea ochii închişi pe jumătate, iar inima îi bătea nebuneşte.Ca prin vis, el auzea povestea ce curgea lin.
Ceea ce îţi voi povesti, s-a întâmplat într-o noapte îndepărtată… de februarie. Mai erau câteva ceasuri şi omenirea avea să treacă pragul în următoarea lună, martie. Muntele era scăldat în razele argintii ale lunii, iar strălucirea stelelor se reflecta în miile de cristale ale zăpezii. Uneori, liniştea era întreruptă de căderea câte unui con de brad. Nu adormisem încă, meditam la venirea primăverii. Eram tânăr pe atunci, mugurii mei se grăbeau să înfrunzească, deja, undeva, pe vale, înfloriseră cornii. Şi, stând aşa pe gânduri, am simţit o pală de vânt căldicel, care se strecura printre brazi scuturând zăpada de pe ramuri. Mijea de ziuă, cerul începuse a se înroşi spre răsărit, semn că până la ivirea soarelui nu mai era mult. Drept să-ţi spun, nici n-am simţit când a trecut noaptea, ultima noapte a lui februarie. Când mi-am revenit, era deja 1 martie.
Încă ameţit, am auzit un sunet ce părea straniu în liniştea de dinaintea apariţiei soarelui. La început, am crezut că e vântul, dar sunetul semăna cu un vaier, parcă cineva cerea ajutor. Nu vedeam decât plapuma zăpezii aşternută peste tot în jur. Să fi fost şopotul izvorului de la piciorul stâncii? Să fi fost vântul ce se zbenguia printre coroanele copacilor? Nu mi-am putut da seama.
Când sunetul era gata să se stingă, am zărit, rezemată de trunchiul meu, o fecioară neasemuit de frumoasă. Era delicată copila, cu chip alb de marmură, cu părul de aur unduindu-i-se pe umeri, cu gene lungi şi blonde, ce ascundeau doi ochi de culoarea toporaşilor. Piciorul îi era mic şi delicat, iar întreaga-i făptură emana căldură, iubire şi un parfum discret. Pe umeri avea o mantie în culoarea smaraldului, pe care erau pictate flori, fluturi şi păsări ce păreau vii, iar pe cap purta o coroană de flori nemuritoare. Părea venită din altă lume. Îi simţeam trupul fierbinte şi… Doamne, pe moment, am crezut că sunt om, dar când am vrut s-o îmbrăţişez, mi-am dat seama că sunt neputincios. Fluviul sevei îmi alerga, nebuneşte, din rădăcini până în creştetul coroanei. Mi-a trebuit ceva timp ca să-mi revin… Atunci, am realizat că sunetul venea dinspre un clopoţel alb, ridicat deasupra zăpezii, iar ceea ce părea vaier, era, de fapt, cântul biruinţei. Clopoţelul delicat străpunsese stratul de zăpadă din dorinţa de a vesti venirea primăverii.
– Înţelegi, Dragobete? Copila ce-mi îmbrăţişa trunchiul, transferându-mi din căldura ei, era o zână. Zâna Primăvară. Melodia suavă a fost auzită şi de ea, dar bietul ghiocel, căci aşa se numea firavul clopoţel, răsărise sub o tufă spinoasă.
De bucurie şi plină de compasiune pentru ghiocelul atât de plăpând, ea s-a apucat să îndepărteze ramurile spinoase ce-l umbreau. Înfuriată, Iarna a chemat crivăţul care a suflat asupra ghiocelului… şi l-a îngheţat. Blânda Primăvară a acoperit clopoţelul fragil, cu palmele ei încălzite. Dar, din nebăgare de seamă, zâna s-a rănit într-un spin şi o picătură de sânge s-a prelins pe ghiocel. Căldura sângelui a dat puteri florii să reînvie. Astfel, Iarna a fost învinsă. De atunci, roşul din şnurul Mărţişorului simbolizează sângele Primăverii… căzut pe albul zăpezii.
Înţelepţii spun că în tâlcul legendei se află adevărul. Şi cine vrea să-l afle, îl află…

Autor:Floarea Cărbune

legenda-ghiocelului

Ilustrație de Mirela Pete

Autor: Floarea Cărbune

1Martiemartisor

The universe is infinite

 

Universu-i infinit

În lumea de simboluri
Trăieşte omu-n viaţă
Şi toate-l pun pe gânduri,
Ştiind că în simboluri,
Mari taine se ascund.
Ca un copil
Încearcă să-nţeleagă
Graiul şi glasul
Florilor şi-al întâmplărilor
Mărunte, ciudate sau mute…

Ecouri şi şoapte se-aud în depărtare,
Sunet, parfum, culoare,
În taină îi răspund.
Sunt proaspete şi pure miresme,
Dulci ca un fagure de miere,
Sunt proaspete ca-nrouratele câmpii,
Purtând cu ele simboluri sacre,
Cu înţelesuri infinite,
Tot ce-amuţeşte mintea
Şi simţurile-ncântă.

Natura e un templu,
Iar Universu-i infinit…


Autor: Floarea Cărbune

Sursă poze: Google & Pinterest

A woman…

LEGEND OF THE UNICORN

(Dedicated to a little girl from Italy Nicole Elena Nicapopi of Rome, Italy)

Illustration of Mirela Pete Rusu

Motto: “The Unicorn always evokes the idea of a miraculous sublimation of corporal life and that of a supernatural power which emanates from what is pure.”  (P.H.Simon)

          In times of old, somewhere in the Apuseni Mountains (Western Carpathians), there was an old woman who raised a girl about whom nobody knew where she came from and who were her parents. The little house where they lived, was located in a safe place. Nobody passed their threshold except for some animals, the girl`s friends.

        When the story began, the girl was 3 years old. She was a playful girl with freckles on her nose, with golden hair and sapphyre eyes. She was so lovely that grandma, that was how she called the old woman who took care of her; she loved the girl as her eyelight. Her name was Sya and she had a nice voice so that she competed with birds at singing. She used to sing from dawn to twilight, she sang as often as her heart wanted it. The wind took her songs far away, on tops of snow-covered mountains and from there up into the sky.

Not far from the house there was a waterfall with sparkling water streamimg down, whose fine drops gathered in dozens of rainbows which the girl watched attentively. Sometimes she tried to pick them up, but she hardly reach out her hand that they disappeared in another part of the waterfall. She wanted to put a rainbow girdle around her waist.

Seeing her so desolate secretly her grandmother secretely wove a girdle on which she sewed glittering glass pearls. In fact they were precious, colourful stones, picked up from a cave only she knew. After that she put the girdle away to keep it for when the girl would be 12 years.

Sya was just 11 but she seemed older. She was quite tall and slender as a reed, her white face like a jasmin flower, her blonde hair hanging down in a curly waterfall over her shoulders and her eyes were a clear blue with shadowy eyelashes like magnetic sapphyres.

On her walks on the mysterious paths of the forest she was accompanied by wild animals. All of them bowed in front of her and obeyed her as if she were a queen. But there were days when she preferred loneliness. Then she wandered through the forest to find fruit and flowers. On some mornings she ran barefoot through the wet grass, some other times at noon, she took a bath in the lake at the foot of the waterfall. The girl was lovely, gracious and very joyfull. When she laughed, through her lips like wild strawberry, one could see her teeth like pearls, small and regular. Her heart was filled with kindness and when she met a wounded animal she took care of it until it recovered.

The birds were competing with one another in singing for her dance and smile when the playful wind touseled her hair. Many times she bent and gave delicate kisses to the tiny, frail bulbs of flowers with dew on them. Sya watched everything with inocence, being enchanted by the birds’ concerts, by the delicate flight of butterflies, by the clouds floating in the sky, by the flavour of the forest and the calls from afar. A hay cock in the meadow with flowers had a special place for her, where she slept when at night, there was a shower of stars in the sky.

On rainy days, she remained in her room with the smell of wild flowers looking for the magic shine of a crystal globe found by the waterfall. It was a big sapphyre as big as a wild duck egg; the girl did not know what it was, but charmed by the magic of its colour and the figures that appeared on its surface, she looked at it for hours. When she turned 12 on September 1-st – a Virgo, grandma offered her a necklace. It was blue like the precious stone, but smaller. Then she also gave her a white dress, delicate and smooth as a snowflake, a glass pearl girdle in rainbow colours and a pair of Roman sandals.

Maiden, as her grandmother usually called her, shined in her simple, but very well tailored clothes. Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks and some of them got caught in her thick eyelashes and got rainbow irisations when a sun ray was mirrored in them. Now, at this age she had some thrills which she could not explain. Sometimes, her smile disappeared and she fell on thinking for hours on end. She felt an urge, something made her go to the waterfall with silvery streams by the flower meadow.

One night with a full moon, when sleep came and overpowered her due to the scent of mowed hay, with half open eyes, she saw, amidst secular tree-trunks, a phantastic creature that blinded her with its powerful glitter. As if she had received an order, her sleep disappeared and she became the joyful and curious little girl that she once was. Carefully she approached the being that seemed a white horse with a unicorn on its forehead and studied it with great attention. Her heart was pounding with undefined emotion, but her curiosity pushed her ever closer to it. The drops on its mane showed a diamond-like glitter. The girl had not seen such a miracle towards which she felt a strange attraction. Sometime later she left, promising to herself that she would return.

Quite tired she arrived at home and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed about the being that she had admired at the waterfall. It told her:

”I`m Unicorn. Don`t be afraid of me. I`m a divine creature and I love all that is pure, chaste, virginal. You are Sya and call me Yin. I`ll wait for you tomorrow, in the meadow with flowers, by the waterfall.”

In the morning, when she woke up, Sya dressed up watching herself in the water mirror in a clay vase, then she put on the nice clothes she had received as a present on her birthday. At the end she rubbed her palms with the leaves of a nice smelling plant. She looked again in the water mirror and left in a hurry. She walked with small and quick steps not to be late, but when she saw creature in its entire splendour, which the first rays of the sun made look even more beautiful, she could hardly walk any more. She stopped quite  astonished, her eyes large in surprise and admiration. Then a melodious voice which resembled the divine tinkling of little bells, said:

– Come closer! You mustn`t be afraid. You are so beautiful! Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

– Yes, I enjoy walking through dew, even to bathe in it, Sya answered.

– Now, let`s have a bath!

Quite bashful, the girl got off her clothes and sat down by his side and then they began bathing in the perfumed and cold dew of the flowers. Happily, Yin told her:

-Do you know that dew enhances our powers tenfold?

-No, I didn`t know, but I`ve always enjoyed bathing in dew.

With the voice nearly in a whisper, he asked her:

-Do you accept to become inseparable friends and to wander together through the whole Universe?

With the cheeks burning of shyness and with the voice strangled with emotion, she answered him.

-Yes, I do.

From that day onwards, the two became inseparable friends; where you saw one, the other one was too. Sometimes, after recovering in a cold and pure water of the waterfall, he put flowers on the hay bed and she knitted blue bells in his mane, which was white as snow. They were happy and lived very nice days. In the forest where they lived, Spring and Summer were eternal. Sometimes Yang put his head in her lap and slept as a baby. This was a sign of great trust because unicorns did not approach any one. Even if they have magic powers, they were shy and distrustful. The spiral horn was decorated with sapphyres that resembled the blue Sky, of the waters and the planet Earth. The initiates knew the symbolistic of the colour of sapphyres. It expressed one of the universal Laws, the Laws of Kybalion : “ What is Down is just like what is Upside. I am the Sky and the Earth .”

We are not alone in the Universe. What you touch in Nature , you discover and this is in relationship with the World. People must remember these things . The horn of the Unicorn was a path among Worlds and the Unicorn , the divine messenger.

During the night, the two walked on unknown paths , flew among the stars and crossed the dimensions of some worlds unknown, but fascinating to her. The white traces that could be seen on the Sky, during Summer, were not only travelling stars but unicorns in flight.

Yang initiated Sya in the secrets of the Universe so she could become invisible. Sometimes, by night, they entered the homes of suffering people who, at the simple touch of the magic horn, became healthly immediately.The next day they told the people surrounding them , how they had dreamt that someone had come to them and annihilated their pain just by whispering to them :

“ Change, be kinder!”

People all over the world spoke about unicorns and the good they did for the world.

In this way, many years passed, many in number, but who could count them. Finally, the Unicorn accompanied her to a secret place, Kogaion, the Saint Mount of the Dacians. Here, their ways separated because everybody has a mission which had to be fulfilled. Maiden was *Sibylla Erythree who had the gift to make prophecies. The legend says that she was born in the Carpathian Mountains, in the Zarand district, on Dacian territory, that is in nowadays Romania.

*Sibylla Erythrică- the most famous among those named

Sibylla, was from the village Roșia, she spent a lot of time in Marmești village, near the Mama/Mother or Moma Mountain and in the localities along the Iad valley which are situated in the

Zarand-Bihor area,in Western Romania. (source: N. DensusianuDacia)

Floarea Cărbune, „Just for you, Japan!”, Editura RAFET, 2017

copertele-1-si-4-REFACUTE-22

Sursă poze: Google

UNICORNscc483ldatkagayaassyaTHE LEGEND OF DRAGOBETE

Concursul internațional proză scurtă „ZĂTRENI- FILĂ DE LEGENDĂ “ Ediția a I-a/ 2018

Concursul internațional proză scurtă

ZĂTRENI- FILĂ DE LEGENDĂ “

Ediția a I-a/ 2018

Primăria localității ZĂTRENI împreună cu scriitorul ION NĂLBITORU organizează concursul literar de proză scurtă ”Zătreni- filă de legendă”

La acest concurs pot participa românii de pretutindeni. Tema să fie inspirată din viața oamenilor de la țară, din legende, mituri, fapte istorice, întâmplări etc.

Textele pentru concurs vor fi scrise în format A4, Times New Roman, caracter 12, obligatoriu cu diacritice, spațiere la un rând și se vor trimite doar în Doc sau Docx.

Se va participa cu un singur text de minim 3 pag și maxim 5 pag.

Se pune condiția ca lucrările participante la concurs să nu fi fost publicate în volum, în reviste online sau pe hârtie și să nu se facă publice pe durata concursului sau a jurizării.

Textele care nu îndeplinesc condițiile de mai sus vor fi descalificate.

Concurenții vor trimite personal în același e-mail două documente: unul cu textul pentru concurs și altul cu un CV scurt, numele prozei participante la concurs, adresa de e-mail, adresa de domicilu, nr. de telefon și o poză jpj pe adresa: nalbitoru_ion@ymail.com cu specificația: Pentru Concursul literar „Zătreni- filă de legendă”. Un concurent poate participa doar cu o singură lucrare.

Concursul se va desfășura în perioada 01 martie – 15 aprilie.

Etapa jurizării va va avea loc în perioada 20 aprilie -10 mai

După jurizare se vor deschide documentele cu numele autorilor.

COMISIA DE JURIZARE:

ION NĂLBITORU- Scriitor, Președintele juriului.

MIHAELA RĂDULESCU- Prof. Dr. Lingvist

MILENA MUNTEANU- Scriitor, CANADA

VASILE HATOS – Scriitor, membru „La Camerata dei Poeti” din Firenţe, ITALIA

FLOAREA CĂRBUNE- Scriitor, organizator anual al concursului „THE CONTEST ART & LIFE” , Japonia

Autoritățile locale (reprezentate prin domnul primar Constantin Lițoiu și consilierii localității) vor acorda câștigătorilor diplome și premii în bani. De asemenea lucrările câștigătoare vor fi publicate online pe grupul literar „Memoria slovelor” și revistele internaționale online „Confluențe literare” și „Radio metafora” (SUA).

PREMIUL I – 500 LEI

PREMIUL II – 400 LEI

PREMIUL III- 300 LEI

PREMIUL SPECIAL- 300 LEI pentru cel mai bun text despre comuna Zătreni

Premierea câștigătorilor se va face pe data de 27 Mai 2018 (de Rusalii) de ziua localității Zătreni.

Eventualii câștigători din diaspora vor primi premiile doar în România.

THE LEGEND OF DRAGOBETE

             For centuries, our nation’s traditions have been preserved in memory of the people in different stories, songs and legends. Some were transmitted orally, others were sculptured into rocks, bringing evidence over centuries about this industrious, brave people, passionate when they love. Because today it is the Feast of Love, I tell you the legend of Dragobete who, according to the elderly, was the son of a lovely woman, Dochia by name. It is believed that she was the daughter of Decebalus (King of the Dacians) and … that even Trajan, the Roman emperor wanted her as a wife. Those who saw her, with blond hair in braids that were hanging down her back, with eyes as blue as the sky, with a white face like marble and red lips with strawberry scent, were stunned by her beauty. She lived in a hut at the foot of the mountain and had a flock of sheep which she took out daily to pastures in meadows with fresh grass.

            One day, charmed by the magic of delicate colours of flowers and their intoxicating scents, she fell asleep on the lake shore where she took the sheep to drink water. It was a night with full moon and Dochia fell asleep on a bed of flowers, smiling in her sleep. Around midnight, when the girl was asleep, a cloud of fog rising from the bottom of the mountain-valley covered the moonlight and wrapped in a tender hug the body of the sleeping Virgin … The next day, when she opened her eyes, it was high noon. Awakened as from a long sleep, she looked around her, and everything seemed changed. On her lips…still wearing the delicate fragrance of a kiss. Not knowing what was wrong with her, she looked in the mirror of the lake and the forest began to roar and a tender sound of a flute could be heard in the distance …

                Life continued its normal course, but Dochia did not know what was happening to her body, which was changing from one day to another…. After 9 months, since the occurrence of the cloud of fog, on February 24th, her child, Dragobete was born. Fatal sisters and godmothers were four fairies: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. Each of them brought him what they thought was more beautiful  and useful in life. Spring sowed in his heart love giving him flowers, freshness and youth without old age. Summer was not far behind and gave the child the warmth of love, the fulfillment of appreciation and the sweetness of fruit. The Autumn Fairy brought him a flute that would keep him company, but also to cheer up the people with his songs. Finally, the Winter godmother gave him a garment woven with shimmering white diamonds. As a belt, she gave him a red one … sown with snowy white pearls. The coat was designed in such a way that it grew together with the lad, remaining white as snow, no matter how many times it would be worn.

                    When he turned 19 , Dragobete had his hair as black as the night and green eyes as silky grass on the mountain, his word was as sweet as honey and his kiss burnt like hot coal. He was a jolly fellow who played the flute and loved girls who looked at him as if he were a God. The virgins who met him and felt his enchanted gaze and sometimes his fiery kiss, felt sure he had come from another world. The elderly said that there might be a spark of truth in the assertion of the girls. Because nobody knew who his father was, it was rumored that he was conceived by the Mountain Spirit with Dochia, when he turned into mist … The truth is that for a time no one ever saw him again, neither did they hear the song of the flute.

                     On the top of the mountain, in a cave on whose walls there grew, „Stone Flowers” in white, blue, gray, pink and purple bunches , there lived a wise old man. While feeding the sheep in the meadow where he had been conceived, the boy found himself face to face with the wise old man who called him by his name and urged him to follow him. Astonished in surprise, Dragobete followed without saying a word. Becoming his apprentice, he learned the hidden knowledge of reading in the Secret Book of Nature. Thus, he recognized medicinal herbs, he knew how to speak to birds, understood the magical signs of the forest, not being any longer afraid of wild beasts.

               When he returned to the world, he was received with open arms. More than ever, he awakened love in the girls’ heart, traveling at the speed of thought and appeared where he was called … The men too liked him. Nobody knew the secret that made men like him and not be jealous of him. That is, until one day, when an old man revealed the secret. When he was a lad, on the evening of February 23rd Dragobete appeared in a dream to three young lads, ready to marry and taught them the secrets of love. Everything was done under oath … The old man broke the silence, since he was over 100 years old, and deemed no longer to be under oath.

                   Legend says that after hundreds of years of life on earth, while the Romanians learned to love the people of this land, and teaching was transmitted from father to son and from mother to daughter, the Mountain Spirit called the child to its breast. At the request of the father, the Mother of God transformed him into a magical plant called Hart’s Tongue. And in the third millennium, some girls even women of this people still believe in the magic power of the Hart’s Tongue. They carry at their bosom a silk purse where they keep it. It’s a sign of appreciation and remembrance of who Dragobete was, “God” of Love for the Romanians.

                      Are you wondering what happened to Dochia? Bad people tell that she had turned into a stubborn and wicked old woman. They say that in March she had put on nine coats on herself and had climbed the mountain with the flock of sheep . Because it was hot, she began to take off her fur coats , one by one, and on a frosty night she turned to stone together with her flock. Others, wiser, argue that Dochia went to her beloved Ceahlău Mount and asked him to turn her into a block of stone … to be together forever.

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Author’s note: August 15-th – The Assumption, the day when the hart’s tongue (a type of fern) is being picked up, the ultimate healing plant, which grows in forests, in places known just by old women, who use it as a means of disenchantment in love matters. The hart’s tongue is given to girls for them to keep it by their bosom ;there is a belief that it has magical powers of attracting the young lad’s love for the girl that wears it.

(Translated by Cristina Maria Pârvu)

Illustration of Mirela Pete

Floarea Cărbune, „The Legend Of Dragobete”, Editura Armonii Culturale, 2015

LEGENDA LUI DRAGOBETE

LEGENDA LUI DRAGOBETE

Legenda lui Dragobete

          De veacuri, tradiţiile neamului nostru s-au păstrat în memoria poporului, împletindu-se în diverse poveşti, cântece şi legende. Unele s-au transmis pe cale orală, altele au fost sculptate în stânci, aducând mărturie peste veacuri, despre acest popor harnic, curajos şi pătimaş în iubire. Pentru că azi este Sărbătoarea Iubirii, am să vă povestesc legenda lui Dragobete care, după spusele bătrânilor, era feciorul unei preafrumoase femei, Dochia. Despre ea se credea că ar fi fost fiica lui Decebal şi…că însuşi Traian, Împăratul romanilor, ar fi dorit-o de soţie. Cine o vedea, cu părul bălai împletit în cosiţele ce-i atârnau pe spate, cu ochii precum seninul cerului, cu obrazul alb ca marmura şi cu buzele roşii cu miresme de frăguţe, rămânea înmărmurit de frumuseţea ei. Fata locuia într-o colibă la poalele muntelui şi avea o turmă de mioare pe care o ducea zilnic la păscut în poienile cu iarbă fragedă.

Într-una din zile, vrăjită de culorile delicate ale florilor şi de miresmele lor îmbătătoare, a înnoptat pe malul lacului în care îşi adăpa mioarele. Era o noapte cu lună plină şi Dochia a adormit pe un pat de flori, surâzând în somn. Pe la miezul nopţii, când fata dormea dusă, din adâncul muntelui s-a ridicat un nor de ceaţă care a acoperit lumina lunii şi a învăluit într-o tandră îmbrăţişare trupul fecioarei adormite…A doua zi, când a deschis ochii, soarele era la amiază. Trezită din somnul lung în care căzuse, a privit împrejurul ei, şi totul i se părea schimbat. Pe buze mai purta încă…mireasma delicată a unui sărut. Neştiind ce-i cu ea, s-a privit în oglinda lacului, iar pădurea a început a fremăta şi un glas duios de fluier se auzea în depărtări…

Viaţa şi-a continuat cursul normal, dar Dochia nu ştia ce se întâmplă cu trupul ei, care se schimba…din zi în zi. La 9 luni, de la întâmplarea cu norul de ceaţă, pe 24 februarie, a venit pe lume Dragobete. Ursitoare şi naşe i-au fost patru zâne: Primăvara, Vara, Toamna şi Iarna. Fiecare dintre ele i-au adus în dar ceea ce au crezut că-i mai frumos şi mai util în viaţă. Primăvara i-a semănat în inimă Iubirea, dăruindu-i prospeţimea florilor şi tinereţea fără bătrâneţe. Vara nu s-a lăsat mai prejos şi i-a dăruit copilului căldura iubirii, împlinirea dragostei şi dulceaţa fructelor. Zâna Toamnă i-a adus în dar un fluier care să-i ţină de urât, dar care să-i şi înveselească pe oameni cu cântecele lui. În sfârşit, naşa-Iarnă i-a ţesut un strai alb cu sclipiri de diamante. Ca cingătoare, i-a dăruit un brâu roşu…cusut cu perle albe ca neaua. Straiul era astfel conceput, încât creştea odată cu flăcăul, rămânând alb ca neaua, oricât l-ar fi purtat.

Pe la 19 ani, Dragobete avea părul negru ca noaptea şi ochii verzi precum iarba mătăsoasă de pe munte, vorba îi era dulce ca mierea, iar sărutul îi frigea ca jarul. Era un flăcău vesel ce cânta din fluier şi iubea fetele care îl priveau ca pe un zeu. Fecioarele care îl întâlneau şi îi simţeau privirea vrăjită, uneori chiar sărutul de foc, se jurau că el venise de pe alt tărâm. Tot bătrânii spuneau că ar fi fost o scânteie de adevăr în cele afirmate de fete. Pentru că nimeni nu ştia cine îi este tată, se zvonea că ar fi fost zămislit de chiar Duhul Muntelui, în timpul unirii cu Dochia, când acesta s-a transformat în ceaţă…Adevărul este că o perioadă de timp nimeni nu l-a mai zărit pe fecior şi nici nu i-a mai auzit cântecul fluierului.

În creierul muntelui, într-o peşteră pe ai cărei pereţi creşteau cristale în buchete albe, roşii, albastre, cenuşii, roz şi violet, trăia un bătrân înţelept. Pe când păştea oiţele în poiana în care fusese zămislit, băiatul s-a pomenit faţă în faţă cu acest Înţelept care i-a spus pe nume şi l-a îndemnat să-l urmeze. Înmărmurit de surpriză, Dragobete l-a urmat fără a spune o vorbă. Devenindu-i ucenic, el a deprins învăţătura tainică de a citi în Cartea secretă a Naturii. Astfel, recunoştea plantele de leac, ştia a vorbi cu păsările, înţelegea semnele magice ale pădurii şi ale Cerului, nemaifiindu-i frică de fiarele sălbatice.

Când a revenit în lume, aceasta l-a primit cu braţele deschise. Mai mult ca oricând, trezea iubirea în inima fetelor, călătorea cu viteza gândului şi se înfăţişa acolo unde era chemat…Bărbaţii îl îndrăgeau şi ei. Nimeni nu cunoştea taina care îi făcea pe bărbaţi să-l placă şi să nu fie geloşi pe el. Asta, până într-o zi, când un bătrân a dezvăluit marele secret. Pe vremea când era flăcău, în seara de 23 februarie, Dragobete li se arăta în vis feciorilor de însurat…şi-i învăţa secretele iubirii. Totul se făcea sub jurământ…Bătrânul a rupt tăcerea, întrucât, avea peste 100 de ani şi considera a fi dezlegat de juruinţă.

Legenda mai spune că după sute de ani de vieţuire pe pământ, timp în care oamenii acestor meleaguri învăţaseră a iubi, iar învăţătura se transmitea din tată în fiu şi de la mamă la fiică, Spiritul Muntelui şi-a chemat copilul la pieptul lui. La cererea tatălui, Maica Domnului l-a transformat într-o plantă magică, numită *Năvalnic. Astfel, Dragobete zis şi Năvalnic, doarme în „carnea” tatălui, renăscând în fiecare primăvară…Chiar şi azi, în mileniul trei, unele fete şi tinere femei ale acestui popor mândru, mai cred încă în puterea magică a năvalnicului. Ele poartă în sân o punguţă de mătase în care ţin magicul năvalnic. E un semn de preţuire şi de aducere aminte a celui care a fost Dragobete, „zeul” Iubirii la români.

Vă întrebaţi ce s-a întâmplat cu Dochia? Răutăcioşii povestesc că ar fi devenit o babă rea şi încăpăţânată. Ei mai spun că în luna martie ar fi îmbrăcat 9 cojoace şi a urcat cu oile pe munte. Pentru că era cald, ea a început a-şi da cojoacele jos, rând pe rând, iar într-o noapte geroasă s-a transformat în stană de piatră împreună cu turma sa. Alţii, mai înţelepţi, susţin că Dochia s-a dus la iubitul său, Muntele Ceahlău şi i-a cerut acestuia s-o transforme în stană de piatră…ca să fie veşnic împreună.

Iubirea nu moare!

Nota autorului: 15 august-Adormirea Maicii Domnului, ziua când se culege năvalnicul, ultima plantă de leac, ce creşte în păduri, în locuri ştiute numai de unele femei bătrâne, care o folosesc la descântatul de dragoste. Năvalnicul este dat fetelor să-l poarte în sân; se crede că are puterea magică de a atrage dragostea flăcăilor pentru cea care-l poarta.(Sursă:Wikipedia)

Floarea Cărbune, „Legenda lui Dragobete”, Editura Armonii Culturale, 2015

Ilustrații de Mirela Pete