As a child, I loved the story of the troll who lived under the bridge and who tried to capture the three billy goats as they crossed his bridge on their way home. Each goat told the troll that the brother who was to follow would be better to eat. The third goat faced the troll and won the day.
I’ve imagined my troll, throughout my life, hiding behind certain risks I took, behind the intentions of those persons I couldn’t clearly read, beneath the transitional bridges I had to cross. There was always that unknown element, that spirit of adventure that accompanies risk-taking, that exhilarated lift once on the other side of safe.
Now that I have aged a bit, I’ve come to see the troll as a redemptive figure rather than a destructive one. A troll is one who intercepts you on your path and confronts your complacency. A troll is one who challenges you to look at your choices and attitudes so you can stretch to grow into a more authentic you. A troll is one who forces you to look and see.
My grandson, Archer, is a troll. At fifteen months, he stops me dead in my tracks whenever I see his face. He pops up out of nowhere with that mesmerizing smile of his and captivates me completely. I forget immediately whatever busyness that temporarily holds me hostage and come straight back to the present moment. He makes me forget what I know and to know, more deeply, everything I forgot, about living, about seeing, about being.
His exuberance and reckless spontaneity knock me off my mindless track and unwrap the gifts of nature and awe. No more clinging to wrapped gifts — no more just getting by without encounter. Archer places value on the smallest of wonders: a feather lying on the ground, a bird calling overhead, a car splashing rain on the wet pavement. He stops to listen to a barking dog down the street, points to a frisky squirrel at play. He makes me look. He allows me to see.
His need of me is pure — unconditional reliability, genuine availability, open receptivity. He lifts me out of myself in spite of myself, tricks me into being my best/whole self. Archer is a visible image of everything invisible that I believe.
He reminds me that we each arrive in this world knowing, but that, as we adapt and conform to cultural expectations, we forget the truth of who we are, of why we’re here. He reaches inside me and gets me in touch, again, with my starting point, that thread of truth within that will unravel my path into a more vital and human me. He wraps me in wonder until I surrender.
Archer moved with his parents to Hilton Head Island five months ago. As I play with him in his living room and delight in his playful laughter, he scurries under the coffee table and flashes that contagious, killer smile. At that moment, everything I know and believe is constellated into one timeless flow of sacred energy that warms my whole body and vibrates my soul.
“Where do you go?” Archer asks me as I’m getting into my car for the long ride back to Atlanta. I can hardly answer that question myself, let alone, answer him.
As I drive over the bridge that takes me away from his world and back into mine, I hear that gleeful laughter singing my heart. I smile, enlivened from within by this treasured image of my little troll under the coffee table. His image becomes for me a transformer, a crossover into wondrous feelings and journeys. The world seems alive and fresh, eager to throw itself at anyone who has eyes to see. “This is it!” I hear him. “Don’t miss it.”
That childhood story from long ago is alive and well. As the third billy goat over the bridge, I am truly graced. I have encountered the troll and have won the day.