image link

The Bell Underground and Los Zapatitos
myth/story paraphrased from what is told by Clarissa Pinkola-Estes from her, “Mother Night” series of lectures

An old man was sleeping in his small village in his little bed in his small home when he heard the sweet pealing of a bell. He threw on his night clothes and ran out into the night, under the stars. He tried to find where the bell sound was coming from, that was clear but seemed like it was coming from underground. He finally found the spot underground where it was by the vibration. He ran home, got his spade, and dug until he unearthed the edge of a gorgeous bell. The village was so poor that the church tower had no bell. He fully unearthed it, dusted it off, and dragged the bell home and went back to bed.

When he woke up in the morning the bell was gone. He searched everywhere, including where he dug it up. The soil looked undisturbed. The old man did not sleep well that night.

Again, after midnight he heard the sweet, pealing sound of the bell. He threw on his clothes and followed the sound. He again felt its vibrations under his feet and again dug it up, brushed it off, and took it home. He thought what a wonderful gift for the village as he fell asleep.

Again, the bell was gone in the morning. He went looking for it and couldn’t find it; however at noon – the hour of the angels – the old man heard the bell ringing, looked up, and it was in the church tower, reminding all to pause and thank the creator. He was mystified but satisfied.

That night, he again was awakened, but this time by the cries of a tiny child. He threw on his clothes and ran out into the night, desperate to find the crying child. It sounded like the crying was coming from under the roots of the corn field. He fell to his knees in the field and felt the vibrations in his knees. He cleared away the dirt with his hands. In the roots of the corn was a beautiful baby boy. The old man felt instant love for the child. He cradled the baby in his coat and ran home, calling to his neighbors to come and see! When the neighbors came, the baby, who had been left on the bed, was gone. The old man was frantic. The neighbors thought he simply had dementia. The old man searched and searched but no dirt was disturbed by the corn roots and the child was gone. By nighttime, the old man was exhausted and fell into a troubled sleep.

Again, after midnight, he was awakened by the crying of a child. Again he found the child in the roots of corn and carried him home and put him on the bed. Again by morning the child was gone. The old man was undecided about what to do next.

The neighbors pounded on his door and said he had to come see the most beautiful little statue of Santo Nino in the church on the altar. All of the old men and women of the village brought Santo Nino gifts of shirts, dresses, hats, and shoes.

That night and all nights after there was no more crying. The old man was relieved again; yet his sleep remained uneasy. He felt something was not quite right.

One night he decided to to to the church and light a candle of thanks to Santo Nino – but Santo Nino was missing! The old man searched everywhere, without luck. He began crying and fell asleep on a wooden bench in the church.

When he woke in the morning, Santo Nino was again on the altar. The old man said, “Please stop running away. Stay here with us. We’ll take care of you. Where have you been? Your clothes are dirty and you’ve worn your shoes clean through.”

Santo Nino said, “don’t you realize that I must be about my work in the world?”

The villagers began to talk about a small light passing by their windows at night and guessed various things as to what it might be.

That night the old man again visited Santo Nino and again he was missing. He fell asleep again on the bench. In the morning, Santo Nino had again returned.

The old man said, “Look at you! Your clothes are filthy and your shoes are worn through.”

Santo Nino said, “Abuelo (Grandfather), I am doing my work in the world again, just as you have done yours.”

Villagers began talking about sick people being made well in the night and seeing a little light or a little child laying a hand on them and saying a few words of blessing.

Now Santo Nino stays in the sanctuary and people bring him many shoes, as he wears them out each night. The small toys they bring him in the day have disappeared in the night.

Other villages also have seen him and have been blessed and healed by him.

After reading Judy’s myth/story about The Martyr Dog, she asked me to share the story of Los Zapatitos (The Little Shoes.)