Drop the Façade (part one)

When read metaphorically, stories can be an ancestral road map to help us know the way off the Vicious Circle or, in this case, how to stay on it:

It is not uncommon to begin this story in the middle: Parcival was lost. He was trying to find his way home. He had just officially become a knight! In truth, he was actually more a fool, more a trickster than knight, but it was a knight that he wanted to become and so it was a knight that he became! He had trained with a master teacher after an auspicious beginning. And now that he’d achieved his diploma, he was trying to find his way home. He wanted to show his mother that he had become something great!

At this mid-point in the story, it’s important to note that Parcival did not yet know his own name. His mother had only called him “dear sonn” never a name. (This detail, dear reader, is a hint to the focus of the story: he does not know who he is beyond a role, a facade). He had no father, no siblings; he had grown up isolated in the woods. For all he knew, “dear son” was his name.

He had been riding for many days and was tired. Toward evening he came upon a wide river and recognized the place! Home was just on the other side. There were no bridges and he knew he couldn’t get across before nightfall. Just then, he spotted a small boat with two old men; one fishing and the other—a really old man—just sitting. The fisherman called out to him: “if you seek a place to stay for the night, there is a lovely castle just up the road and you’d be most welcome.” A hot bath, a good meal, a bed to sleep in—what more could he ask for? He would find a way to cross the river in the morning, clean and well rested.

Parcival thanked the old man and, sure enough, about a mile up the road was a beautiful castle. Greeted at the gate by lords and ladies, it was as if they were expecting him. They brought him into the great hall to meet their king and much to his surprise, the king was the fisherman! Only now he was dressed in fine clothes. Parcival could see that the king was crippled; he reclined in great pain on a couch before a warming fire. Parcival’s mind raced with questions but he had been taught that it was impolite for a knight to ask his host for explanations. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of this great king.

The king asked Parcival to sit beside him, and then presented him with a beautiful sword. He told Parcival that this sword was his destiny. Parcival took the sword, noticing that that all the lords and ladies were staring at him. They were holding their breath waiting to see what he would do. It seemed everyone from the castle had packed into the great hall to see him. He thanked the king for his gift, desperately wanting to know what the king meant by “destiny” and why everyone was staring at him. But he had been taught that it was impolite to question your host. Accept a gift with gratitude. Be silent. “Later,” he thought, “later I will ask one of the lords.” He had been well taught to compartmentalize, so he put his feelings and his curiosity into the appropriate box.

Just then, a young man came into the hall and a hush fell over the assembly. He carried a brilliant white lance; a single bead of blood ran from its tip down the shaft, nearly touching the young man’s hand. All those assembled watched his procession across the great hall and then they turned and again stared at Parcival. He was about to panic when two more men entered, each carrying a candelabra, each holding hundreds of burning candles; blinding light filled every corner of the hall. Behind them, a beautiful girl entered. She held something brilliant, its light so bright that the candles seemed dim in comparison. It was a golden bowl. Parcival was transfixed. He had never seen such radiance. Surely this was holy! He watched as they, too, walked across the great hall and vanished out the door on the other side.

His mind burned with questions, questions that he should not ask, questions that he could not ask. He would break the knight’s code! He looked to the Fisher king, pretending to be cool—the image of a calm, mature, unflappable knight. The King stared back at Parcival, with the same expectation, the same yearning in his eyes that Parcival saw in the eyes of all the lords and ladies. Parcival nodded politely, quickly pulling his gaze from the king’s eyes. To his horror, he watched as the expectation drained from every eye in the room, their stare frosted over and became cold. Slowly, the assembled hosts averted their eyes and, without a word, they quietly left Parcival all alone in the great hall….

Stories are told to help us know who we are beyond the façade. Stories potent with mythological power are told to help us know that “who we are” is not as small or disconnected as our experience might lead us to believe. Dropping the façade is one way off the Vicious Circle into living a more expansive, mythic life experience. If you’ve ever withheld your truth because of what people might think, you are telling Parcival’s story. When read metaphorically, what he does next can give you clues in finding your version of “the grail.”

-David Robinson