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Believe In the Tooth Fairy
May. 25th, 2023 09:26 amMagic and Memory
Some years ago I bought my wife a deck of Tarot cards.
It was our first Christmas together. She'd expressed interest in Tarot, which at the time I'd been working with for many years, so it was an obvious choice for a present. But which deck should I get her?
I knew I'd need something simple, standard, and good for beginners. More elaborate and specialized decks are based on the standard models, and so the basics are best for those just starting out. Still, it couldn't be too basic, or it would feel generic, which would take away the power of a gift. Part of a gift, of course, and often the most important part, is the demonstration to the other person of just how well you know them.
And so I spent at least an hour combing through the "Metaphysical" section at Barnes and Noble, trying to find the perfect deck. Eventually I settled on one. It was elaborate and beautiful, somewhat surrealist; she'd love it.
...Wouldn't she?
I was twenty minutes down the road when I realized, no, no, this was altogether the wrong deck. The one I'd seen before, the Beginner Tarot in the purple box with lovely artwork and detailed instructions, that was the right one.
And so I turned around. Or, rather, I made my aunt, who was driving the car, turn around. And we drove twenty minutes back to the mall, and, since it was Christmastime, I waited another twenty minutes in the line to make the exchange.
While we were there, I also picked up a lovely Celtic Tree of Life tarot bag to put the cards in. All in all, the whole process took at least three hours.
Then Christmas morning came.
I had fewer children, cars, and mortgages in those days, and so there were a lot of presents under the tree. Still, every time my wife picked up a giftwrapped box, I knew exactly what was in it.
Until that one. It was a little diagonal box. And I looked at it, and I said, "I have no memory of getting that for you." I was being completely honest; I had no idea what it could possibly have been.
Of course, it was the tarot deck.
Later, she picked up another box, this one holding the bag for the cards.
She said, "I think this is a magical gift too."
I said, in all honesty, "No, it isn't. I can't remember what it is, but I'm sure I didn't get you anything else related to magic or divination."
Well, you know what happened next.
I learned an important lesson from the experience, which is just how delicate the memory is, and how strongly magical forces can affect it. When Jenn picked up the package containing the tarot cards, I could not find a single memory associated with it. It was like they were locked away behind an invisible wall. Once she tore off the wrapping paper, the memory of the cards, and of the entire afternoon spent shopping for them, was present in its entirety.
Keep that in mind, it will be important later.
Memory and Dreams
A strange thing often happens to me as I'm falling asleep.
Between wake and sleeping, I begin to have a very peculiar sort of dream. This happens almost every night. In these dreams, I am someone else, doing something else. So far, so good-- nearly every dream is like that. But it's not merely that I am someone else. In every single case, I have the full suite of this other person's memories available to me.
Think of your own life. At this exact moment, you aren't remembering what you did yesterday, or what you did on your last birthday, or where you were when you heard about the planes hitting the Twin Towers on 9/11, or the first time you got drunk, or smoked a cigarette, or got into a fistfight, or had sex. But those memories are there, somewhere, in the background of your mind. If you thought about it, you could retrieve them immediately-- in fact, the images associated with those memories probably came to you when you read the words. But, even more to the point, even if you can't quite recall any one of those items, it's there, somewhere, in the background of your personality, shaping who you are to this day.
The dreams that come to me in the hypnogogic state are like that. It's not just that I'm someone else, I have the full range of that someone else available to me. I don't just remember, but I remember that I remember. I know, in these moments, a great deal that I do not know in my waking life, or in my ordinary dreams.
And then I shift in my sleep, or I hear a noise outside, or a cat jumps onto the bed, and it's all gone. Every image, every detail; only the memory of the fact remains. The information, the images, they're all lost. In forty years of dreaming these dreams, I can recall only two images. In one, I'm a man hurrying down a city street. The world feels brown and everything is brown. It might be the early twentieth century, or it might not be Earth. But I'm an ordinary man, probably dressed in a coat and a hat, with a complete set of memories and an attached identity unrelated to my present life. The other is an image of golden crystal towers set against a hallucinatory sky. I can't tell you anything else about it.
Where do these memories go, when I wake up or when a cat jumps onto my pillow?
I don't know, but I suspect it's the same place that the memories of the tarot cards went on that Christmas morning, years ago.
Memory and The Tooth Fairy
My stepson is nearly twelve years old, which is much too old to believe in tooth fairies.
Despite this, he lost his final tooth the other day, and placed it under his pillow as he has with all the rest. And my wife and I planned to take his tooth and give him his money. Did you know that the kids get five dollars these days? I know we've had runaway inflation, but that still seems like a lot, given that I never got more than a quarter.
In any case, we've been taking his teeth and giving him five dollars (five dollars! Good God) for years. But that night, we forgot.
That's not a huge deal, in and of itself; it's happened once or twice before, and each time we've said, "Maybe the tooth fairy will come while you are at school." Which the tooth fairy proceeded to do.
But the tooth fairy didn't come while he was at school. She didn't come the next night, or the next school day. And she didn't come last night, either.
But I'm not playing Peter Pan. I don't ask him to fake believing in fairies. Instead, I ask again,
"Is the tooth fairy real?"
He says "Yes," because he thinks it's what I want to hear.
And so I say, "Do you think you could capture her on camera if you tried?"
"No."
"Or could you see her with your eyes?"
"No."
"No. With your eyes you'd just see your mom.
"Here's the thing.
"Centuries ago, there were many beings like the tooth fairy. Every time there was a holiday, someone would show up dressed as a saint or an elf or a monster to give out candy or presents. And since they had dozens and dozens of holidays back then, there were a lot of magical beings running around. And everyone would treat them as perfectly real. Now we have just a few left-- the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa. But it's still the same idea.
The thing is, these beings aren't fake. They aren't like you and me, human beings living inside a single body. They're more like forces, with their bodies distributed throughout the world. That might sound strange, but it isn't, not really. If you could imagine yourself the size of a single cell, or even an atom, you wouldn't like much like a body either. You'd like like hundreds, even millions of different beings-- your cells-- all doing different things, across an enormous landscape. And that'd be right-- but it wouldn't be the whole picture, either, because all of those different beings would be linked together into a single network by something called 'You,' your life, your intelligence.
In the same way, beings like the Tooth Fairy are distributed all through the world. Whenever a mom takes a tooth from under her kid's pillow, or the kid draws a picture of a fairy, or the kid's parents tell him the story-- that's how the Tooth Fairy is able to manifest. Those actions are like her cells."
He says, "If you're lying to me, I'm going to be so mad at you..."
I say, "I'm not lying. The tooth fairy is real, but she can't come if you don't believe in her; your disbelief caused me and your mom to fall asleep last night, and the night before, and the night before, without remembering your tooth."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Of course. Now, you don't have to believe me, if you don't want to. It might be that you need some time to not believe in tooth fairies, or the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus. But I believe in them."
At that point his three year old sister finally makes her way downstairs. Now the morning enters its frantic phase, as I realize I need to make lunches for both kids and get the little one dressed and get them out the door to their respective schools and, oh yeah, I've only got about 10 minutes to do all of this.
Should I have told him the truth about the Tooth Fairy? Was he too young to know? Did he need some time to keep disbelieving, like a big kid? I don't know. But I guess I'm going to need to go upstairs, and put some money under his pillow. Five dollars, these days. Plus interest for four missing days. Can you believe it?
Some years ago I bought my wife a deck of Tarot cards.
It was our first Christmas together. She'd expressed interest in Tarot, which at the time I'd been working with for many years, so it was an obvious choice for a present. But which deck should I get her?
I knew I'd need something simple, standard, and good for beginners. More elaborate and specialized decks are based on the standard models, and so the basics are best for those just starting out. Still, it couldn't be too basic, or it would feel generic, which would take away the power of a gift. Part of a gift, of course, and often the most important part, is the demonstration to the other person of just how well you know them.
And so I spent at least an hour combing through the "Metaphysical" section at Barnes and Noble, trying to find the perfect deck. Eventually I settled on one. It was elaborate and beautiful, somewhat surrealist; she'd love it.
...Wouldn't she?
I was twenty minutes down the road when I realized, no, no, this was altogether the wrong deck. The one I'd seen before, the Beginner Tarot in the purple box with lovely artwork and detailed instructions, that was the right one.
And so I turned around. Or, rather, I made my aunt, who was driving the car, turn around. And we drove twenty minutes back to the mall, and, since it was Christmastime, I waited another twenty minutes in the line to make the exchange.
While we were there, I also picked up a lovely Celtic Tree of Life tarot bag to put the cards in. All in all, the whole process took at least three hours.
Then Christmas morning came.
I had fewer children, cars, and mortgages in those days, and so there were a lot of presents under the tree. Still, every time my wife picked up a giftwrapped box, I knew exactly what was in it.
Until that one. It was a little diagonal box. And I looked at it, and I said, "I have no memory of getting that for you." I was being completely honest; I had no idea what it could possibly have been.
Of course, it was the tarot deck.
Later, she picked up another box, this one holding the bag for the cards.
She said, "I think this is a magical gift too."
I said, in all honesty, "No, it isn't. I can't remember what it is, but I'm sure I didn't get you anything else related to magic or divination."
Well, you know what happened next.
I learned an important lesson from the experience, which is just how delicate the memory is, and how strongly magical forces can affect it. When Jenn picked up the package containing the tarot cards, I could not find a single memory associated with it. It was like they were locked away behind an invisible wall. Once she tore off the wrapping paper, the memory of the cards, and of the entire afternoon spent shopping for them, was present in its entirety.
Keep that in mind, it will be important later.
Memory and Dreams
A strange thing often happens to me as I'm falling asleep.
Between wake and sleeping, I begin to have a very peculiar sort of dream. This happens almost every night. In these dreams, I am someone else, doing something else. So far, so good-- nearly every dream is like that. But it's not merely that I am someone else. In every single case, I have the full suite of this other person's memories available to me.
Think of your own life. At this exact moment, you aren't remembering what you did yesterday, or what you did on your last birthday, or where you were when you heard about the planes hitting the Twin Towers on 9/11, or the first time you got drunk, or smoked a cigarette, or got into a fistfight, or had sex. But those memories are there, somewhere, in the background of your mind. If you thought about it, you could retrieve them immediately-- in fact, the images associated with those memories probably came to you when you read the words. But, even more to the point, even if you can't quite recall any one of those items, it's there, somewhere, in the background of your personality, shaping who you are to this day.
The dreams that come to me in the hypnogogic state are like that. It's not just that I'm someone else, I have the full range of that someone else available to me. I don't just remember, but I remember that I remember. I know, in these moments, a great deal that I do not know in my waking life, or in my ordinary dreams.
And then I shift in my sleep, or I hear a noise outside, or a cat jumps onto the bed, and it's all gone. Every image, every detail; only the memory of the fact remains. The information, the images, they're all lost. In forty years of dreaming these dreams, I can recall only two images. In one, I'm a man hurrying down a city street. The world feels brown and everything is brown. It might be the early twentieth century, or it might not be Earth. But I'm an ordinary man, probably dressed in a coat and a hat, with a complete set of memories and an attached identity unrelated to my present life. The other is an image of golden crystal towers set against a hallucinatory sky. I can't tell you anything else about it.
Where do these memories go, when I wake up or when a cat jumps onto my pillow?
I don't know, but I suspect it's the same place that the memories of the tarot cards went on that Christmas morning, years ago.
Memory and The Tooth Fairy
My stepson is nearly twelve years old, which is much too old to believe in tooth fairies.
Despite this, he lost his final tooth the other day, and placed it under his pillow as he has with all the rest. And my wife and I planned to take his tooth and give him his money. Did you know that the kids get five dollars these days? I know we've had runaway inflation, but that still seems like a lot, given that I never got more than a quarter.
In any case, we've been taking his teeth and giving him five dollars (five dollars! Good God) for years. But that night, we forgot.
That's not a huge deal, in and of itself; it's happened once or twice before, and each time we've said, "Maybe the tooth fairy will come while you are at school." Which the tooth fairy proceeded to do.
But the tooth fairy didn't come while he was at school. She didn't come the next night, or the next school day. And she didn't come last night, either.
This whole time, he's been playing along, wondering out loud why that Tooth Fairy is being so lazy. Finally, this morning, the kid looks right at me and just flat out says, "Why do you guys keep forgetting?"
And that was the moment I realized what was happening.
"Do you believe in the tooth fairy?" I ask him.
"No," he says.
"It's just your mom and me, right?"
"Right."
"Like the Easter Bunny?"
"Of course."
"And Santa?"
He nods.
"And there you have it," I tell him. "The tooth fairy isn't coming because you don't believe in her."
But I'm not playing Peter Pan. I don't ask him to fake believing in fairies. Instead, I ask again,
"Is the tooth fairy real?"
He says "Yes," because he thinks it's what I want to hear.
And so I say, "Do you think you could capture her on camera if you tried?"
"No."
"Or could you see her with your eyes?"
"No."
"No. With your eyes you'd just see your mom.
"Here's the thing.
"Centuries ago, there were many beings like the tooth fairy. Every time there was a holiday, someone would show up dressed as a saint or an elf or a monster to give out candy or presents. And since they had dozens and dozens of holidays back then, there were a lot of magical beings running around. And everyone would treat them as perfectly real. Now we have just a few left-- the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa. But it's still the same idea.
The thing is, these beings aren't fake. They aren't like you and me, human beings living inside a single body. They're more like forces, with their bodies distributed throughout the world. That might sound strange, but it isn't, not really. If you could imagine yourself the size of a single cell, or even an atom, you wouldn't like much like a body either. You'd like like hundreds, even millions of different beings-- your cells-- all doing different things, across an enormous landscape. And that'd be right-- but it wouldn't be the whole picture, either, because all of those different beings would be linked together into a single network by something called 'You,' your life, your intelligence.
In the same way, beings like the Tooth Fairy are distributed all through the world. Whenever a mom takes a tooth from under her kid's pillow, or the kid draws a picture of a fairy, or the kid's parents tell him the story-- that's how the Tooth Fairy is able to manifest. Those actions are like her cells."
He says, "If you're lying to me, I'm going to be so mad at you..."
I say, "I'm not lying. The tooth fairy is real, but she can't come if you don't believe in her; your disbelief caused me and your mom to fall asleep last night, and the night before, and the night before, without remembering your tooth."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Of course. Now, you don't have to believe me, if you don't want to. It might be that you need some time to not believe in tooth fairies, or the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus. But I believe in them."
At that point his three year old sister finally makes her way downstairs. Now the morning enters its frantic phase, as I realize I need to make lunches for both kids and get the little one dressed and get them out the door to their respective schools and, oh yeah, I've only got about 10 minutes to do all of this.
Should I have told him the truth about the Tooth Fairy? Was he too young to know? Did he need some time to keep disbelieving, like a big kid? I don't know. But I guess I'm going to need to go upstairs, and put some money under his pillow. Five dollars, these days. Plus interest for four missing days. Can you believe it?
