There are reasons that stories travel from culture to culture, but Jack has always been something of an anomaly in how widespread and yet contiguous his stories are. He may be from Cornwall, Germany, or North Carolina in a given story, but his character is recognizable and the story is more than likely the same.
Now, everyone knows a Jack tale. There’s the one about the beanstalk, sure, and most have heard a story or two about him in one of his many run-ins with the devil. The details change, but the man is the same.
[Today, the final day of 2016, we welcome guest contributor Tamilia Reed. Reed is a devotional polytheist, spirit-worker, mystic, rune reader, Witch, and traveler of the Otherworlds. Her spiritual work centers on building strong relationships with the denizens of this and other worlds, while seeking an intimate understanding of the magical ties that join all beings. You can find Reed’s writing on her personal blog at Wandering Woman Wondering, at Wayfaring Woman via Agora, or at Daughters of Eve: Pagan Women of Color Speak.]
Story is beautiful in that it grows, transforms, and evolves with us and through us, and there is great power in telling our own story on our own terms. The story of my spiritual path began in northeast Florida on a cool morning as the light of dawn rushed over my grandmother’s brown skin. I was about 8 years old.