Stories have always lived in the bones of culture, older than written word, carried in smoke and song, passed through mouths like sacred fire. They were never just for children. They were how the soul encoded memory. How ancestors whispered instructions across time.

Fairytales weren’t sugar before sleep.
They were spells.
Blueprints disguised as lullabies.
Medicine tucked into metaphor. Magic language.

I’ve always been drawn to that kind of storytelling, the kind that doesn’t just tell, but touches. The kind that slips beneath logic and lingers where language ends. The stories that feel like they remember you before you remember them. Stories that give you ‘aha’ moments, even weeks after hearing them. They feel like bed-time stories from my childhood, where my dreams would be filled with fairies and a Sacred Quest. They would fuel my wonder and creativity.

And the older I get, the more I believe:
These tales were never meant to be outgrown.
They were meant to be re-met.
Because in their pages, something ancient is still speaking.
And gods know, the world could use a little myth and magic again. A boost in fun creative energy. A sprinkle of dream-like energy where you channel your inner prince or princess.

Stories as Mirrors
The stories we were raised on, the girl in red cloak, beasts who speak in riddles, landscapes that shift shape under moonlight, weren’t mere entertainment. They were initiation. They offered us archetypes, yes, but also invitations: to know ourselves more fully.

What we were told were moral tales about good and evil… were, in truth, maps of the soul moving through shadow and light. The duality of life.

What once sounded like “don’t talk to strangers” becomes, with time, a story about learning to trust our intuition.
The wolf? Not always danger: sometimes, he’s the call of instinct.
The forest? Not always fear: sometimes, she’s freedom dressed in wild green.

And even the villains, witches, wolves, monsters, deserve a second look.
The witch is the exiled wise woman, her power misunderstood.
The monster is often a mirror, reflecting back the parts of us we were told to hide.

Every character holds a truth. Every tale, a teaching. A shift in perspective.

The Symbols That Still Speak
Fairytales speak fluently in symbol, a soul-language that doesn’t explain, but evokes feelings. Their meaning isn’t meant to be dissected, but felt. These symbols still hum with life:

The Forest: A holy in-between. The wild liminal space between who we were and who we’re becoming.
The Journey: Not just a storyline, but the shape of becoming. To leave, to lose, to learn, to return — changed.
Magic: Not sparkles. But the unseen threads that tug at truth: synchronicity, grace, presence, remembering, alchemy.
Transformation: The unraveling before the becoming. Every tale worth telling holds a metamorphosis. Growth.

Tales as Spiritual Architecture
The old stories don’t just offer morals, they offer models. Of wholeness. Of healing. Of walking through the dark and coming out with stardust in your bones.

They teach us:
That light isn’t the opposite of darkness — it’s what moves through it.
That love, real love, doesn’t rescue — it re-members us back to who we’ve always been and empowers.
That reality is thicker than we’re taught, and magic isn’t make-believe — it’s just not made for the eye.
That the sacred hides in plain sight: in teacups, thresholds, small gestures, quiet courage.
That salvation isn’t always found in a prince, a spell, or a sword — often, it’s found in the one who’s been walking with you all along. You.

A good story, a great book reminds you:
How to feel.
How to trust.
How to speak in symbol.
How to see the unseen.
How to meet ourselves, again and again. (There are reasons beneath the surface explaining why you like or dislike that certain character)

And you, dear one — you are allowed to believe in that again.
Not just believe — but live it.
Feel it in your chest. Let it tug at your sleeve like wonder once did.

So how do we return?
How do we re-enchant the everyday?

– Listen to enchanted music with your eyes closed. Let the melody be the map.
– Light a candle and let its flicker take you somewhere older than thought.
– Walk barefoot through the grass and pretend you’re on a quest. (Because you are.)
– Read aloud to yourself in the dark. Bonus points if it’s a fairytale.
– Make tea and stir it clockwise. Whisper a wish.
– Draw a doorway on paper and ask your inner child what’s on the other side.
– Let yourself play. Even when — especially when — it feels silly.
– Hide a note for your future self in a book you love.
– Sit under the moon and make up stories for the stars.
– Speak kindly to the parts of you that still believe.

Magic doesn’t need permission. But it does love presence. And joy. And imagination. And a little bit of mischief.

So follow the thread. Step into the woods. Let the old stories find you.

They’ve been waiting.
And this time, you get to walk them awake.

You can listen to Enchanted music right here
or maybe enjoy a magical visual meditation taking you to a land, far, far, away.

Love,
Meer