And Then There's This...

“The Foolish Milkmaid” and the Movies in My Head

Did you ever come across the tale of “The Foolish Milkmaid” when you were in elementary school? In case you missed it, here’s how the story goes: A young woman has just finished milking the family cow and is walking home with the pail of fresh milk balanced delicately on her head. As she walks, she begins to daydream about what she might do with the milk. 

Instead of bringing it home to her family as she always does, she imagines instead that she takes it to the market and there trades it for a basket of eggs, which, in her active mind, quickly hatches into a flock of chickens that produce even more eggs, which she trades to the village dressmaker for a beautiful gown. The milkmaid imagines that she looks so stunning in her new finery that the common people are staring at her in awe as she walks by, some even mistaking her for the real queen. Feeling at that moment that she IS that queen, the milkmaid stands a bit straighter and tosses her head imperiously. The pail topples, and the milk spills onto the ground. Not only has she lost her imaginary eggs, flock, finery and public esteem, she’s even lost her only negotiable possession — the momentarily magic milk. Now forlorn, she's left with nothing but her family's impending anger when she returns home empty-handed.

The tale is meant to teach kids the lesson that they should keep their feet solidly on the ground and their head out of the diverting clouds. Well, that's one way to interpret it. But I prefer another. As I read the parable, for one glorious moment the milkmaid really did own a fine flock of chickens, really was clad in a beautiful gown and really did look every bit as regal as the queen. She felt this transformation so intensely that her mind and body reacted as if it were true. Surely, a transcendent moment like this means more to the spirit than just having enough milk to get you through the day.  And there was an even greater advantage to the milkmaid's daydreaming. In visualizing what she wanted so vividly, she was programming her mind to try to make it happen, an essential first stage of growing wings.

In our rigidly practical world, daydreams still get a bad rap. Our parents, teachers, spouses and bosses all tell us that such seemingly idle fantasizing keeps us from doing what’s really “important” or “necessary.” Ultimately, though, our imaginings are our most precious assets. When we were children, we subsisted unashamedly on dreams. They were what we fell back on for comfort and feelings of triumph after we realized we had relatively little control over the “real” world. 

We were told what to eat, how to dress, when to go to bed, when and where to go to school and who we could associate with. But when we were alone and far away from those hectoring voices of reality, we could be anything and anywhere we wanted to be. Is there a more comforting and uplifting talent than this? Ask prisoners of war what kept them alive and sane after all realistic hope of escape had been lost.

I've never been pestered by such cosmic concerns as, “Why am I here?” or “What is the meaning of life?” Even as a kid I knew these questions were unanswerable and off the point.  I knew that I could feel both pain and pleasure — and that I preferred feeling pleasure.

That being the case, I, like the milkmaid, have always had self-produced “movies” playing in my head. In these, I always star as the triumphant hero, whether the scene is a public forum face-off in which I devastate an intellectually inferior opponent or a pillow-strewn bedroom with sensually voracious co-stars. No injuries and no insurance necessary. So my movies always come in under budget.