ABSTRACT: The approach in this article is based on the first author’s experience using traditional

folktales and myths as sources of spiritual wisdom and healing while accompanying a close friend

throughout her [...]]]> By Christel Lukoff, Ph.D. and David Lukoff, Ph.D.
Originally published in the The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 2011, Vol. 43, No. 2

ABSTRACT: The approach in this article is based on the first author’s experience using traditional

folktales and myths as sources of spiritual wisdom and healing while accompanying a close friend

throughout her end-of-life process. Over 200 folktales dealing with illness, death and grief were

collected from books of folktales, mythology and spiritual traditions. Inspired by Chinen’s

approach to Middle and Elder folktales, these stories were then thematically analyzed for main

themes and ‘‘field-tested’’ in workshops at transpersonal, hospice and other conferences

internationally. According to Kenneth Doka (1993), people at the end of their lives face three

major spiritual tasks. Specific folktales are explored to illustrate spiritual care issues for each of

these challenges: (a) To find meaning in one’s life, (b) To die appropriately, (c) To find hope that

extends beyond the grave.

When the world was still young, Truth walked around as naked as she was the day ;

she was born. Whenever she came close to a village, people closed their doors and

shut their windows, for everyone was afraid to face the Naked Truth.

Understandably Truth felt very alone and lonesome. One day she encountered

Story who was surrounded by a flock of people of all ages who followed her

wherever she went. Truth asked her, ‘‘Why is it that people love you, but shy away

from me?’’ Story, who was dressed in beautiful robes, advised Truth: ‘‘People love

colorful clothes. I will lend you some of my robes and you will see that people will

love you too.’’ Truth followed her advice and dressed herself in the colorful robes

of Story. It is said that from this day on, Truth and Story always walk together

and that people love both of them (adapted from Weinreich 1997).

As this Jewish tale illustrates, people do not want to face the naked truth but

are able to be attentive when truth is presented in layers. Similarly, death and

dying in Western society are topics that many find difficult to face head on.

Therefore we talk about death using euphemisms such as ‘‘they have gone to

sleep, were lost on the way to the hospital, entered into eternal rest, or have

gone to a better place.’’ Paul Watzlawick (1978) believes that information

transmitted through images and metaphors, rather than by direct communication,

is much more effective in creating change in the mind and in behavior.

It is absorbed by the ‘right brain’ which has the ability to go beyond the rigid

boundaries created by fixed logical and conceptual thinking thereby opening us

to a wider perspective. The ‘‘colorful clothes’’ in folktales come layered in the

form of images, symbols, repetitions and hypnotic inductions into the world of

‘‘once upon a time.’’ The dreamlike language of stories bypasses the rational

mind and speaks to the listener on the level of the unconscious.

This article first discusses the use of traditional folktales and myths as sources

of spiritual support at the end of life. Then specific folktales are explored to

illustrate spiritual care issues for each of Kenneth Doka’s (1993) three major

spiritual tasks people face at the end of their lives; namely, to: (a) find meaning

in one’s life; (b) die appropriately; (c) find hope that extends beyond the grave

FOLKTALES AT THE END OF LIFE

The first author personally experienced traditional stories and myths as sources

of spiritual wisdom and healing while she was accompanying a close friend

through her end-of-life process. When my friend was suddenly faced with a

diagnosis of metastatic ovarian cancer, she likened her experience to the fate of

the mythic heroine Persephone of the ancient Greek myth. Suddenly she too

felt as if the ground underneath her had opened up and pulled her into the

underworld. From one day to the next, her entire world had changed and

nothing seemed the same. After having undergone an initial major surgery, her

days were spent in doctors’ offices, learning about different treatment options,

making appointments, getting test results back and dealing with the

bureaucracy of the healthcare system. She felt that her illness was crowding

out everything else, and she along with everyone around her tended to forget

that she was more than just a disease. She therefore asked me to remind her

that she was still alive.

At the time, I was involved in telling traditional folk and fairytales in my young

children’s classrooms. The same stories that delighted 5 year olds, such as ‘‘The

Bear Catching the Moon,’’ also opened a window into the realms of

imagination for my friend and me. They brought not only distraction but

also lightness and laughter into the seriousness of the situation and got us

involved in the creative endeavor of mutual storytelling. Sometimes we would

give each other three words out of which we then had to create a story with a

beginning, middle and an end.

Months later as the cancer progressed and I visited my friend in the hospital,

she would often ask, ‘‘Can you tell me a story?’’ It was at this point that I

began to look for folktales that specifically spoke to her situation and

concerns, addressing themes such as illness, death and grief. The story images

coupled with the hypnotic like storytelling tone of voice seemed deeply

comforting, providing respite from the reality and sterility of the hospital

room. Other stories invited dialogue, meaning making and humor into our

relationship. A Chinese tale about the difference between heaven and hell and a

Tibetan story of a woodcutter who is presented with the choice to be reborn in

any of a myriad of different beings inspired us to dialogue about our beliefs

regarding what happens after death. The folktale of the seal maiden who had

to tear herself away from the topside world and her loved ones in order to

return to her true origins at the bottom of the sea where she finds healing and

transformation became a metaphor of hope and healing. The many tales about

someone tricking death introduced the healing power of humor as a buffer

against fear and worry. As George Bernard Shaw (1906/2009) remarked: ‘‘Life

does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be

serious when people laugh’’ (p.85). Finding a way to share not only tears of loss

but also tears of laughter created closeness and diminished the separation

between her being the patient and me the caregiver.

As the myth of Persephone speaks to the sudden, shocking and unexpected

abduction into the underworld at the time of diagnosis, the 5000 year old

Sumerian myth of Inanna’s descent into the underworld parallels the

incremental loss of footage in the ordinary world. On her journey into the

underworld Inanna passes through a series of gates where at each something is

taken from her that once identified her as the queen of heaven and earth until

eventually she ends up naked and hanging like a slab of meat on a hook. As the

author’s friend continued to go through successive hospitalizations, chemotherapy

treatments, tests, and medical procedures, she readily identified with

the ancient myth, feeling she too was making an Inanna-like descent. Each

hospitalization was another gate where something was taken away such as

trading her name and role in everyday life for an ID number on a bracelet and

her own clothes for a hospital gown. Each chemotherapy treatment brought

another loss such as her appetite or her hair falling out. In Close to the Bone:

Life-threatening illness and the Search for Meaning Jean Shinoda Bolen (1996)

states:

On the medical journey, patients often feel like Inanna: the hospital feels like

an underworld in which they are stripped and humbled, and then

unconscious under anesthesia, they literally become a slab of meat on an

operating table. Or after a series of tests and treatments, each of which takes

them deeper into an unknown, fearful world, patients feel metaphorically

left hanging on a hook awaiting news that they can come back to life. (p. 33)

For the first author, storytelling became a way to connect and be with her

dying friend after all the caretaking had been addressed. It helped her channel

her own fears and later her grief into a creative outlet which continues many

years after her friend’s death, and keeps them forever connected. The

archetypal wisdom of the stories themselves continues to help her find

meaning and comfort in her work with the dying and bereaved and in facing

the Great Mystery of living and dying in her own life.

It was out of this personal encounter with stories and storytelling that the

author began to systematically look for stories on the topic of illness, death

and grief from books of folktales, mythology and spiritual traditions from

the library, internet searches and her personal collection. Over 200 stories

were collected and then analyzed for main themes (see appendix 1 for the

main themes and illustrative folktales). Many of these folktales talk about

death’s presence in a matter of fact way: ‘‘And if they did not die, then they

are still alive today’’ says the traditional ending of most German folktales.

Usually death is portrayed as being as much a part of life as the night is part

of the day.

When personified in Western art and literature, death often appears as the

Grim Reaper, a scary skeleton man reminiscent of the Dances of Death images

from the Middle Ages that were painted on church and cemetery walls to serve

as a ‘‘memento mori,’’ reminding people of the inevitability of death, earthly

vanities and divine salvation. In contrast to the Grim Reaper image, which

seems deeply imprinted into our contemporary Western psyche, many folktales

help us look at death in a different way. Some folktales portray death as a

beautiful and godlike young man (or woman in romance languages) who

radiates irresistible beauty. Other tales introduce death as a caring elder, a

godparent, a teacher and ally who accompanies us throughout our lives, helps

return us to our true origins or releases us from the curse of immortality.

Folktales from many indigenous cultures describe death not as the end of a

lifeline as usually perceived in the West, but as a part of the natural cycle of all

life (Annie and the Old One-Native American1). These stories remind us that

death is part of all nature (Why Death is like the Banana Tree-Madagascar) and

that it is our human responsibility to make room for future generations (The

Mortal King-China). Some stories reconcile and comfort us, letting us know

that we do not stand alone with the pain of grief and loss (Mustard Seed Story-

Buddhist). Other stories (The Cow-Tail Switch-Liberia) generate more

questions than they answer, inviting dialogue and reflection.

The attempt to trick death or to obtain immortality is a common theme among

traditional folktales from all cultures and times. In fact, this is the most

prevalent theme among the stories collected and reflects the universal fear of

and difficulty accepting death. Whether death gets trapped in a hollowed out

tree trunk (The Woodcutter and Death-Nepal), becomes stuck in a pear tree

(Aunt Misery- Puerto Rico), or is frightened away by a strange looking creature

(Outwitting Death- Hungary), in the end death gains the upper hand or the

protagonist realizes that eventually immortality becomes a curse and will plead

with death to release them from eternal life (The Man Who did not Wish to

Die—Japan).

As a hospice social worker, I (CL) visit with people who are approaching the

end of their lives, provide community education on end-of-life issues and lead

workshops for health care professionals in which I use folktales as teaching

tools to ease into discussions about death and dying. Most people seem to

readily connect with stories and can easily identify with a protagonist facing

seemingly insurmountable challenges, such as having to spin a room full of

straw into gold, while at the same time encountering unforeseen helpers. In

folktales and myths, they can vicariously experience ways of finding strength

and hope, courage and spiritual perspective. The authors have included

folktales in continuing education courses on spiritual issues in illness, death

and grief and in workshops presented at transpersonal, hospice and other

international conferences. Thus many of the stories have been ‘‘field-tested’’

to explore their implications for education and spiritual care as described

later.

TRANSPERSONAL PERSPECTIVES ON MYTHIC STORIES AND FOLKTALES

Myths are stories reworked over generations to a finely-honed state where they

serve as ‘‘a powerful picture language for the communication of traditional

wisdom’’ (Campbell, 1949, p. 43). Herrnstein-Smith (1981) presents the thesis

that the mind has the capacity and propensity to create certain basic stories.

These narrative structures may be comparable to Chomsky’s (1985) concept of

deep grammatical structures in that these stories organize experience much as

deep grammar organizes language. Myths are vivid manifestations of these

fundamental organizing principles that exist within the psyche and the cosmos

(Frank & Frank, 1991; Jung, 1964; Krippner & Welch, 1992). Houston (1989)

makes the same point this way: ‘‘Myth is something that never was but is

always happening’’ (p. 101).

Myths awaken and maintain in the individual a sense of awe and gratitude in

relation to the spiritual dimension of the universe. They provide a bridge

between one’s local consciousness and transcendent realms and eternal forms.

Eliade (1960) argues that the personal unconscious and ‘‘private mythologies’’

alone cannot awaken an individual’s mystical consciousness. It requires ‘‘the

general and the universal symbols [to] awaken individual experience and

transmute it into a spiritual act, into metaphysical comprehension of the

world’’ (p. 213).The myth’s power to open the individual to the spiritual

dimension of life is not tied to a particular social system or epoch. Its potency

lies in its symbolic nature. ‘‘Mythological symbols touch and exhilarate centers

of life beyond the reach of vocabularies of reason and coercion’’ (Campbell,

1968, p. 4).

Folktales are essentially narrative complexes that collapse many mythic stories

into one simpler story (Miller, 1976). Most folktales can be traced back to

earlier myths, with the story compressed and simplified (Campbell, 1972b).

Folktales have long been considered sources of wisdom in transpersonal

psychology. In several articles in the Journal of Transpersonal Psychology,

Chinen (1985, 1989, 1993) studied folktales to gain a fresh perspective on the

psychological and spiritual issues faced by middle-aged and elderly persons. He

observed that most folktales feature youthful protagonists, and reflect the

psychology of youth–the struggle to become an individual in the real world.

The hero or heroine leaves home to seek treasure or true love, battles enemies,

and ultimately triumphs. Such folktales are versions of the Hero’s Journey

myth that Campbell (1972a) identified as prevalent in many cultural traditions.

‘‘What happens,’’ Chinen (1985) asked, ‘‘in that ‘ever after’–when the Prince

turns fifty, or the Princess is widowed?’’ (p. 99). Chinen reviewed 4500 folktales

from around the globe, and found that 9% of them had middle-aged

protagonists and 2% concerned the elderly. Chinen thematically analyzed

these ‘‘elder tales’’ to reveal their major motifs, and then related these stories to

contemporary research in the psychology of aging. His main finding was that

rather than emphasizing personal development, elder tales focus on the

following transpersonal tasks: (a) the need for renewal in the face of the many

material losses of later life; (b) encountering a numinous or supernatural

element; and (c) spiritual transformation.

While it may seem paradoxical or even foolish to assert that folktales are

repositories of insight and wisdom, Chinen (1985) argues that,

The folktale2 genre may be uniquely appropriate for the insights. Folktales

have been handed down over centuries, so that they contain the distilled

experience of many generations. Folktales are also not meant to be believed,

so they can say the unspeakable, the repressed or intolerable in society.

They’re like dreams. They bring up what we don’t want to look at. They

force us to face truths that we might ordinarily overlook. (p. 117)

Folktales and myths reveal the presence of universal themes and patterns

regarding human suffering, dying and grieving. The struggles and arduous

journeys of the heroes and heroines in folktales and myths depict the ways

people feel, hope, suffer, wish and behave in the midst of life’s challenges. As

described above in the author’s personal experience with a dying friend, their

collective wisdom can evoke, deepen and transform our understanding of the

experience of illness, death and grief. Bruno Bettelheim (1977) who used

folktales in his clinical and theoretical work, stated that,

The folktale takes the existential anxieties and dilemmas very seriously and

addresses itself directly to them: the need to be loved and the fear that one is

thought to be worthless; the love of life, and the fear of death. Further, the

folktale offers solutions in ways everyone can grasp on their own level of

understanding. (p. 10)

FOLKTALES AND MYTHS IN SPIRITUAL CARE

This part of the article focuses on the usefulness of folktales and myths for

spiritual care at the end-of-life, especially for people facing their dying time.

The folktales and myths included illustrate the three spiritual tasks identified

by Doka (1993): To find meaning in one’s life, die appropriately, and find hope

that extends beyond the grave.

To Find Meaning in One’s Life

The Russian folktale Joseph the Tailor illustrates the importance of life review

and reminiscence in finding meaning at the end of one’s life. As Joseph ages he

experiences how his coat that has served him throughout his long life begins as

happens with all things in life, to wear away. Being a tailor, he makes the coat

into a jacket, the jacket into a cap and finally the cap into a bow tie only to

discover that none of these last forever either. Eventually, all that is left are his

memories and stories. But they remind him of the richness of a life well lived,

help him accept and integrate his losses and gain a perspective of deep meaning

and gratitude.

During the last months to weeks of a person’s life, this kind of reminiscence is

one of the most important spiritual tasks. Likewise it is important for a

caregiver or family member to elicit from and be fully present for the dying

person to share his or her life stories. Joseph the tailor when asked by his

grandchildren ‘‘Grandpa, tell us about your coat’’ found the sharing of life

stories with active listeners to be a healing and meaning making experience.

Alice Walker (1990) described ‘‘The process of the storytelling is itself a healing

process because someone is taking the time to tell you a story that has great

meaning to them…They want to give it to you in a form that becomes

inseparable from your whole self’’ (p. 7). In this way a story becomes a gift of

connection between the teller and listener, allowing everyone to emerge

replenished.

Butler (1963) theorized that life review is a naturally occurring, universal

mental process and that most elderly people spontaneously engage in

reminiscing about their lives. As individuals realize that there is limited time

remaining to them, they will examine what kind of life they have lived, and

whether they feel their life was a success or failure. Butler saw the life review

process as essential to the final reorganization and integration of the

personality and as a final opportunity for the individual to come to understand

the conflicts of earlier life, coming to some resolution or forgiveness. This

theory parallels that of Erikson (1982) who proposed that the critical factor in

accepting death is one’s integration (vs. despair) over one’s lived life.

According to Erikson, this reminiscence and introspection is most productive

when experienced with significant others. Facilitating a life review is widely

recognized as an important therapeutic tool in end-of-life-care.

The folktale of Joseph the Tailor models a life review not focused on a

chronological recounting of one’s life nor on one’s worldly achievements of

rank and wealth but on one’s relationships, values and interconnectedness.

These parallel what Frank Ostaseski, founding director of the San Francisco

Zen Hospice Project, calls the most important questions at the end of one’s life:

‘‘Am I loved ?’’ and ‘‘Did I love well ?’’

When it is no longer possible for a dying person to engage in the telling of their

own life stories, traditional folktales and myths can become an important

‘‘medicine’’ to address and ease spiritual pain at the end of life. Clarissa

Pinkola Estes (1992) coined the phrase ‘‘stories as medicine’’ to describe their

capacity to help find meaning in suffering, illness and death. Another way of

utilizing the healing power of traditional stories that the author often suggests

to hospice families, especially when at the bedside of a very ill, demented or

comatose patient, is to read stories out loud. When all practical caregiving

tasks have been addressed and conversation is no longer possible, family

members often feel uncomfortable sitting at the bedside watching their loved

one go through the dying process without having a specific task to focus on.

Reading stories, particularly those from the patient’s childhood, cultural and/

or spiritual background, provide a focus while maintaining an emotional

connection. Since it is believed that hearing is usually the last sense to go, this is

a chance for the patient to hear the comforting voice of a loved one while

allowing the images and metaphors of stories to work on the unconscious

mind.

To Die Appropriately

The second spiritual challenge identified by Doka (1993) is for the dying person

to clarify and communicate their wishes about their dying time. Frequently the

patient and their family have to decide when to choose between life-extending

measures versus opting for comfort care. If a person’s view of death is informed

by the medieval image of the Grim Reaper, they will likely try to stave off death

at all cost. The Godfather Death tale, originally collected by the Brothers Grimm

(variations of which exist in many cultures) allows for a different perspective.

Here death is portrayed as being part of the family (a godparent), as a teacher

and healer who offers us an alternative benevolent image of death. In this

traditional folktale a father chooses Death to become his son’s godparent

because Death treats everyone the same, and he promises to make his son rich

and famous, for as Death states, ‘‘he who has me as a friend can lack nothing’’

(Yolen, 1986, p. 467). As the child grows up, Godfather Death prepares his

godson to become a great physician who knows the art of healing and can tell

when it is time to live and when it is time to die. Death reminds the young

physician that wherever he visits a patient whether in a great castle or in a little

shack by the roadside, he will always be there as well. Death continues: ‘‘If I

stand by the head of the sick man , you may say with confidence that you will

make him well again…but if I stand by the patient’s feet, he is mine, and you

must say that all remedies are in vain, and that no physician in the world could

save him’’ (p. 467). Death warns the young physician ‘‘beware of using the herb

against my will, or it might fare ill with you’’ (p. 467). In the story the young

physician does not heed his Godfather’s warning but tricks death by turning the

patient’s bed around. At the same time the tale’s ending reminds us that

ultimately no one can cheat death and get away with it.

In contemporary Western medicine many physicians and patients see death as

the enemy. In an attempt to fight off death they try, just as the physician in

Godfather Death does, to ‘‘turn the bed around.’’ This was made very clear to

me (CL) by a hospice patient, himself a physician, who was unable to accept his

own dying even though he knew there were no further life-extending

treatments. This patient was so afraid of losing control over his capacity to

be in charge of his own treatment that he refused to let the hospice staff

administer effective pain medication. He died in excruciating physical and

emotional pain, lashing out at and alienating his family, thereby depriving

himself and everyone involved of a dignified and peaceful death.

If a patient and their family can accept death as ‘‘part of the family,’’ like a

godparent, it would help them to know when it is time to tell the physician to

stop ‘‘turning the bed around.’’ The awareness of this choice, as illustrated by

an alternative view of death in the Godfather Death and other traditional

folktales, could mitigate some of the suffering and struggle around dying, and

inform decision-making about medical options. The author (CL) has found the

Godfather Death story to be a valuable resource in facilitating discussions

about end-of-life choices with the general public as well as with medical

students at the UCSF palliative care training program.

Along with making one’s Advanced Directives for Medical Decisions it is an

important task to also communicate our wishes regarding funeral plans that

are congruent with our spiritual beliefs. One hospice patient, a young woman

dying of a brain tumor, befriended death by taking an active role in planning

her own funeral. For weeks before her death, her pine coffin became the

centerpiece of her living room. She took naps in it, and her last creative act

involved stenciling it with her beloved sunflowers. In addition to a traditional

burial and a service in her parents’ church she also planned a celebration of her

life for her family and friends, selected her own music and asked for the

following story adapted from the Jewish Talmud to be told:

Two ships were sailing in a harbor. One was leaving for the open seas and the

other was returning home after a long journey. People cheered the ship that was

leaving for its journey, hardly paying attention to the one that was returning to

port. An old man remarked: ‘‘Why not rejoice for a ship sailing out to sea, for

you do not know what terrible dangers it may encounter. Rejoice rather for the

ship that has reached shore, bringing its passengers safely home.’’

 

And so it is in the world. When a child is born, all rejoice. When someone dies,

all weep. But maybe it should be the other way around—that people rejoice at

the end of a person’s life rather than in the beginning. For no one can tell what

unforeseen dangers await a newborn child, but when a person dies, they have

successfully completed their life journey. (Lamm, 2004)

 

To Find Hope that Extends Beyond Death

A final spiritual challenge is to leave something enduring, something that

continues after death. The desire to leave a legacy has been identified as an

important developmental task of later adulthood (Traxler, 1980) and of the

dying (Doka & Morgan, 1999). Some people believe they live on through their

children, others through their accomplishments and good works. Almost

everyone has some personal possessions that have been important to them

throughout their life, and making plans to pass these on to the people they love

can provide a sense of continuity. The Japanese folktale, The Mirror of

Matsuyama, depicts how such inheritances help us keep an ongoing

relationship with a person who has died. On her deathbed, the mother in

this story presents to her young daughter a beautiful handheld mirror: ‘‘At

times when you feel very alone, look into it. I promise you, that you will always

see me’’ (Gersie, 1991 p. 303). Soon afterwards the mother dies. The mirror

becomes their continuing link as the daughter uses it to evoke the presence of

her dead mother. For the survivor, such objects can evoke and sustain an

internalized relationship with the deceased. For the dying, these objects become

a part of their legacy and ensure continued remembrance. This traditional

folktale confirms the spiritual solace that comes with knowing that some part

of a person will endure beyond death when their presence is evoked through

the things they bequeath.

Another way to find hope that extends beyond death is to write a spiritual (also

known as ethical) will. Based on ancient Jewish traditions first described in the

Old Testament 3000 years ago (Genesis Ch. 49) a spiritual will is a personal

legacy letter that describes what truly mattered in one’s life. It is usually

directed towards a specific person (or one’s family) and describes important

values, life lessons, prayers, hopes for the future and how one wants to be

remembered. In Healthy Aging: A Lifelong Guide to Your Physical and Spiritual

Well-Being, Andrew Weil (2005) promotes writing an ‘‘ethical will as a gift of

spiritual health’’ (p. 290) and asserts that its ‘‘main importance is what it gives

the writer in the midst of life’’ (p. 288). It helps people clarify their values, focus

on their life purpose while living fully with the awareness of their mortality.

The above mentioned folktale of Joseph the Tailor provides a template for

passing on such values and life learnings. In the story Joseph shares with his

family some of the happiest moments of his life, important achievements as

well as challenges he faced and how he was able to overcome them. He talks

about the many losses he experienced and how his ability to accept, adapt and

transform his losses sustained him throughout his life’s journey. The first

author has used Joseph the Tailor’s story as a guide to help workshop and

conference participants write their own spiritual will. A sample of questions

used with hospice patients is presented in appendix 2.

Stephen Levine (1998), along with philosophers throughout the ages, highlights

the value of living consciously in the shadow of death. He developed a program

where participants practice living as though this was their last year to live.

Another traditional folktale Death’s Messenger (Germany), collected by the

Brothers Grimm, illustrates how most of us tend to deny the many signs of aging

and thus are caught unaware when death comes. This folktale serves as a

reminder to ask ourselves: If we were to really listen to death’s messengers, how

would we want to live our life? Folktales and myths can help people deepen and

transform their reflections about death and dying while connecting their own

personal struggle to the challenges and realities of human existence across

different times and cultures.

ENDNOTES

1 All of the folktales mentioned in this article are readily available online by searching using the title of the story.

2 In quotes from Chinen and Bettelheim in this article, the term folktale was substituted for fairytale in some of

the original text. There is much overlap in the use of these two terms, and the authors of this article felt switching

back and forth between these terms would be confusing.

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APPENDIX 1

Myths & Folktales about Illness & Death: Story Themes

* Illness as a Journey

Persephone Myth (Greek)

Inanna Myth (Sumerian)

The Water of Life (Germany)

* Death as an Integral Part of Life

Mustard Seed Story (India)

Annie and the Old One (Native American)

Why Death is Like the Banana Tree (Madagascar)

* Tricking Death

Godfather Death (Germany)

The Woodcutter and Death (Nepal)

Aunt Misery (Puerto Rico)

The Enchanted Apple Tree (France)

The Man who did not Wish to Die (Japan)

Outwitting Death (Hungary)

The Boy with the Ale Keg (Norway)

* Spiritual Tasks of the Dying

- Finding Meaning in One’s Life

Just Enough/Joseph the Tailor (Russia)

-To Die Appropriately

Godfather Death (Germany)

- Finding Hope Beyond Death

The Mirror of Matsuyama (Japan)

Just Enough/Joseph the Tailor (Russian)

* Images of the Afterlife

The Difference between Heaven and Hell (Chinese)

The Little Girl with the Matchsticks (Denmark)

The Mountains of Tibet (Tibet)

* Hope and Healing

Sealskin (Greenland)

Water of Life (Germany)

APPENDIX 2

An Ethical/Spiritual Will is a personal legacy letter that describes what truly

has mattered in one’s life. It is usually directed towards a specific person (or

one’s family) and describes important values, life lessons, prayers, hopes for the

future and how one wants to be remembered.

Below is a list of prompts that may be used to share or write your own

reflections or use as questions with someone else:

One of the happiest moments in my life……………………………………

One of the most challenging moments in my life, and what helped me get through

them……………………………………………………… ……

What has been most important in my life………………………………….

An important lesson I learned in my life……………………………………

What I am most proud of……………………………………………………

A saying/proverb that has been a guiding line for my life………………..

What I want you to know about me……………………………………………

An important tradition for me………………………………………………

Someone who has been a great teacher/influence in my life………………

Some of my favorite places and what I learned there……………………..

I regret deeply……………………………………………………… ……….

I am grateful for………………………………………………………………

I wish I had…………………………………………………………………..

Mistakes I made and what I learned from them…………………………..

I hope you remember me as……………………………………………………

I hope that during your lifetime you will … …………….. ……………….

The Authors

Christel Lukoff, Ph.D., MFT, is a hospice social worker, a psychotherapist in

private practice, and a storyteller. She utilizes the healing potential of

traditional stories and myths in her clinical work with the elderly, the dying

and bereaved as well as in conference presentations and workshops throughout

the U.S., Europe and her native Germany. She has published 2 CD’s: When

Life and Death Walk Together and Stories of Love and Loss.

Author’s note:

Working as a hospice social worker accompanying individuals and their

families through their end of life journey, I am often asked: Isn’t that a

depressing job? But for me, learning about death is really learning about

living. It is a privilege to be with people at such a sacred and intimate time

in their lives. It reminds me daily of the preciousness and fragility of life. At

the weekly interdisciplinary team meetings with my fellow hospice workers, I

make sure to sit where I can read a tile that adorns the wall of the meeting

room saying: ‘‘And what is it you plan to do with this one wild and precious

life of yours?’’ (from Mary Oliver ‘‘A Summer Day’’). For me this line

represents the challenge to live each day as if it were my last while honoring

each moment with gratitude and awe. It is a life motto I strive to tend to on

a daily basis.

In my work as a psychotherapist in private practice, I help people restore their

lives through re-story-ing. Sometimes this involves having clients simply share

their life story out loud with me as a witness in order to deepen their

understanding of their story and its characters. Sometimes it involves a process

of editing by helping a client retrieve lost parts of their story, focus on different

parts of the story or help them imagine a different ending. Using traditional

stories and storytelling in workshops, in community presentations about end of

life care, and at times at the bedside, keeps awake a sense of magic, nurtures my

creativity and keeps my love for stories alive.

David Lukoff, Ph.D., is a Professor of Psychology at the Institute of

Transpersonal Psychology and a licensed psychologist in California. He is

author of 80 articles and chapters on spiritual issues and mental health and coauthor

of the DSM-IV category Religious or Spiritual Problem. He has been

an active workshop presenter internationally providing training in spiritual

competencies in areas such as grief, death, illness, recovery, spiritual problems

and spiritual emergencies.

Author’s note:

I acquired a deep appreciation for myths and symbols as experiential realities

while writing a series of case studies based on truly listening to the voices of

psychosis from initiates whose stories had many similarities to myths. Some

part of my own unconscious was stirred as I explored the ‘‘Myths in Mental

Illness’’ (title of my first case study published in JTP). Writing this case study

helped me find meaning for a time in my life that I earlier had dismissed as an

embarrassing 2 month hallucinogen-induced grandiose psychotic experience.

Yet this same experience was also my spiritual awakening, although it took

Jungian analysis and transpersonal study to realize this.

Once awakened to the world of symbols, I became a fan of Allan Chinen’s

work on Elder and Middle Tales–attending his presentations at ATP

conferences starting in the 1980’s, along with reading his books and articles

in JTP. As I am now transitioning between these two stages in life, I often find

myself turning back to his work. His ATP talks on fairytales are an oft listened

to resource on my ipod as I seek transcendence and renewal along with some

humor to face losses in later life. Listening to these succinct non assuming tales

helps me makes sense out of life’s journey while embodying deep acceptance

and gratitude.

In contemporary Western society, awareness of death is usually missing from our daily lives and consciousness. Folktales and myths from around the world remind us that death is as much a part of life as the night is part of the day. “And if they did not die, then they are still [...]]]> By Christel Lukoff

In contemporary Western society, awareness of death is usually missing from our daily lives and consciousness. Folktales and myths from around the world remind us that death is as much a part of life as the night is part of the day. “And if they did not die, then they are still alive today” goes the traditional ending of most German folktales in a matter of fact way.

Stories about death and dying helped both myself and a close friend, who had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, find comfort and acceptance in the midst of crisis and fear. One day, my friend told me how she felt comforted by her belief that after her death she wouldn’t be bound to our earthly concepts of time, and what might seem to all others as another 40 years of life, might for her go by in no time at all. Then she asked me what I thought happened after death. I had not thought much about an afterlife, but the following story of The Mountains of Tibet came to my mind:

In a small village, high in the mountains of Tibet, there once lived a woodcutter. All his life he had longed to travel to faraway places to see the world. But he grew old without ever leaving his valley.

When he died, he found himself in a place that was both very dark and very bright. A voice appeared and offered him the choice to go to heaven or to live another life, in any form he wanted, anywhere in the galaxies. He looked around and saw all the many beautiful planets, countries and cultures, and all the different and wonderful creatures and people. Following his heart, he carefully decided to be reborn as a little girl who loved to fly kites and lived in a green valley, high in the mountains of Tibet, that whispered old familiar stories.

As the woodcutter in this story experienced death as a realm of great freedom and unlimited possibilities, my friend and I got carried away telling our own stories about life after death limited only by our imagination and creativity. From then on, storytelling became a creative endeavor that accompanied us throughout her illness and her dying process.

As my friend’s illness took its toll and she was recuperating from chemotherapy treatments, she often asked me to tell her a story. The following tale of Sealskin from Iceland became one of her favorites:

There was once a fisherman who lived alone in a cold and icy place by the sea. One evening, to his amazement, he heard merriment and dancing. As he drew his kayak closer, he saw a group of women of dazzling beauty splashing and laughing in the water with a joy that made his heart cry out with desire. He couldn’t help taking one of the sealskins he found on a nearby rock. When the beautiful women returned, they put on their garb, resumed their former shape and flung themselves into the sea, all except one, who was still searching for her skin. The man stepped forward: “Be my wife and after seven winters I will return your sealskin.” Reluctantly, she agreed. They lived together happily and had a little boy they named Ooruk. As the years passed by, the young woman’s skin began to wither, her eyesight grew bad and she needed a stick to help her walk.

One night, Ooruk woke up when he heard his mother pleading with his father to keep his promise and return her sealskin. His father refused and stormed out of the house. Later that night, Ooruk heard a deep voice calling his name. He climbed out of bed and, following the voice, ran down towards the ocean. Suddenly, he stumbled over something: it was his mother’s sealskin. He took it home to his mother as fast as he could but begged her not to put it on. His mother looked at him with great love and pain and stopped for a moment, but something was calling her that seemed to be older than time. She took Ooruk down to the beach, inhaled three deep breaths into him and together they swam to the bottom of the sea . They were greeted as family by all the creatures of the sea . As the days went by, the mother’s health was restored and she swam about as easily and gracefully as a young seal maiden. After seven days, the mother took Ooruk back to the upside world. With great love and sorrow, she dropped Ooruk off at the shore. “Don’t cry for me,” she said. “I will always be with you. When you touch my bone carvings and my arrows, I will fill your veins with a fire to dance your dances and tell your stories.” Then she tore herself away from her son and returned to the world beneath. And Ooruk, for it was not his time yet, stayed on. It was said that he became a mighty dancer and storyteller because he had visited the world beneath and he had had a mother who loved him very much.

 

Whereas Western art and literature often portray death as the Grim Reaper, the Sealskin story represents death as an ally and a guide who takes us back to our true origin. The story helped me and my friend connect to a sacred space away from the reality of the hospital room. It strengthened our hope to experience healing like the seal woman does when she returns to the world beneath, and to find ways to say good-bye and carry on through our loved ones when we die.

In my search for stories that seemed relevant to my friend’s experience, I looked for folktales that specifically address the themes of death and loss. I found many stories that brought lightness and laughter into our situation and helped us not to allow my friend’s illness crowd out everything else. Sharing stories and laughter brought us together when our roles as the patient and caregiver had unconsciously separated us.

The following story from Egypt evoked laughter from my friend and later with audiences of hospice caregivers:

When Goha was close to dying, he asked his wife to put on her prettiest dress and make herself look as beautiful as she could. Goha’s wife began to cry : “How can I do those things when you lie here dying?” But she did as her husband told her and returned in her most gorgeous attire: “Is it, my dear beloved husband, that you want to look at my beauty for one last time?” “No,” Goha replied: ” it was just that I was told ‘death chooses the best’. So I thought, when he sees you sitting here, he might take you instead of me.”

 

After my friend’s death, family and others close to her came together for a celebration of her life. The stories we told about her built bridges between her and us, opened us to our tears and laughter, and to each other. Since then stories about grief and loss have guided and helped me through my own process of mourning. I liken my journey through grief to that of Coyote in the Land of the Dead, a story told by the Yakima Indians:

When eagle woman died, Coyote and his friend, eagle man, decided to go to the land of the dead to bring eagle woman back to life. After crossing the river that divides the land of the living from the land of the dead, they were led to a lodge made of tightly woven rushes with a warm fire and a pile of animal hides inside. Coyote and eagle man noticed there were no windows or doors, and when they tried to scratch a hole into the wall, the walls of the lodge smoothed over immediately. Eagle man panicked, but Coyote began to sing. With a bone splinter that Coyote had saved from his last meal, he managed to scratch a hole into the wall through which they could see eagle woman and all the other dead ones dancing and singing joyfully. When the dead ones stopped, Coyote and eagle man climbed outside with a huge bag they had sown together from the animal hides. Carefully, they lifted the bodies of the dead into their bag and placed it into the canoe. As fast as they could, they paddled back towards the land of the living. When the first rays of sunlight appeared, the dead ones woke up. They started to wiggle around so much that finally the canoe capsized. With the squirming bag between his teeth, Coyote managed to struggle to shore. He welcomed the dead ones back to the land of the living and they thanked him for his effort. However, the dead ones explained that their time in the land of the living had come and gone and they wished to return to the land of the dead where they had found much happiness and wisdom. Eagle woman asked her husband not to cry for her but to look forward to a time when he too would join her in the land of the dead. And then the dead ones got back in the canoe and crossed the river back to the land of the dead. Coyote and eagle man watched them and then turned towards the land of the living.

When we have lost a loved one, like Coyote and eagle man, we often try to find ways to ‘retrieve’ them. After my friend’s death, I found myself searching for her among faces in the street and listened to her voice that remained on her answering machine. When we are in great pain and grief, we may try to contain our feelings and, like Coyote, sew ourselves a ‘bag’. But at times our ‘bag’ of grief can burst open and we find ourselves back in the ‘cold water’, struggling to make it to ‘shore’ and reconnect with life. For me, it has been a passion for stories that helped me reconnect with life. I now tell these stories to hospice staff and volunteers who work with the dying and bereaved. Through storytelling I stay connected with my friend and honor our commitment to find creative ways when dealing with death and grief.

Little did I know that for me this was going to be the beginning of a new professional path into hospice work and a passionate plunge into the role of a storyteller when during a walk on a sunny fall day about 8 years ago my close friend, Jade, who had just [...]]]>