Fairy Tale Marriage

The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen became the script of my fairy tale marriage.

A poor waif is wanders in the cold trying to sell her matches. Freezing, she lights them, one by one, to warm herself. Each flame illuminates a different illusion of a warm, welcoming home that fades as the match burns out. After the third match burns out, she sees a shooting star and remembers that her grandmother before she died told her that a shooting star was the soul of a human traveling to God. When she sees her grandmother’s face in the flame of the next match, she cries out “take me with you” and lights all the remaining matches so her grandmother cannot leave her. Her grandmother takes her in her arms. The next morning the little match girl is found frozen to death, with a beatific smile on her face.

The interpretation of the story evolved as our relationship changed.

The little match girl wandered, homeless and cold, looking for shelter. The man lived, lonely and cold, in a big house with an unlit fireplace. The man opened his door to the match girl. With her last match, she lit a fire in the fireplace. Their fire burned strong and steady for a long time. Families were united around their hearth. The girl took a torch of flame from their fireplace and warmed the lives of others. The man stayed close to the fireplace, guarding their supply of firewood.

The pull of the script was so strong that I continued to feel like a poor waif being sheltered and cared for by a powerful protector when in reality, I was the one earning the income, through my counseling practice that supported us. The trouble began when the little match girl in me began to grow up.

The girl grew more adventuresome and nourished her flame with insight and friendship. She became a woman. The man grew more conservative and built a wall around their hearth. They spent more time apart, away from the hearth. The firewood was all the man had known. He did not know how to make it more. Her flame was the strongest the woman had known. She did not know how to make it less.

Desperate to save our marriage, I took the story to a professional workshop. One day that we examined the archetype of the brave soldier. That night I dreamed of the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The dream helped me recognize the Unknown Soldier in me masquerading as a little match girl, and that it was neither my matches nor my husband’s firewood that was the source of the fire that warmed my soul. It was the eternal flame of the Divine.

There once was a man and woman whose individual sparks were buried deep inside of them. When they met, their attraction ignited a fire. The flames from the fire united families around their hearth. Their individual sparks got lost in the fire. It was easy to confuse their flames with the fire. They got caught in the illusion of dependence, and held one another responsible for the sustenance of their individual flames. Each began to feel used and controlled by the other. Walls of resentment grew around their hearth. The man blamed the woman for the loss of his individual spark, and withdrew. The woman found her individual spark, and invited the man to join her. But the man had withdrawn too far to hear her. Behind the walls, the fire sputtered and died.

Around the time that I filed for divorce, I had a vision of a young girl’s corpse burning on a funeral pyre.

The little match girl wandered homeless and cold looking for shelter. In the flame of her last match she saw a man open his door to her. They became a family. It was a strong match. The flame sustained her dream for a long time. When the match burned out, so did her dream of family. The little match girl froze to death. Her body was burned on a funeral pyre. Out of the flames, a woman emerged, holding a torch from the Eternal Flame.