David, a dear storytelling friend of mine, died a few weeks ago. He was a tall, imposing man with a deep, authoritative voice – and a ponytail. His stature and voice exactly suited the stories he most loved and told so well: sweeping epic tales of heroes and hubris, determination and near-disaster, horror and honor.
Just like his story heroes, David waged his own epic battle with the cancer that took away his strength; his sight in one eye; his ability to walk.; and, ultimately, his life. But it never vanquished his spirit. As late as four months before he died, David, along with several other tellers, unspooled the mighty tale of Odysseus, mesmerizing all of us who were fortunate enough to be there.
But David was not just a good storyteller. He knew the power of stories to heal – and so he made his living by telling his treasure of epics to troubled teenage boys in group homes. He never told a whole story in one visit either. He always stopped at the most exciting, or terrifying or gruesome part. It was masterful; the boys were hooked.
As he once explained to me, “The boys listen to these stories first because of all the gore and mayhem. But after awhile they begin to hear the deeper messages: like about courage, and overcoming the odds, and confronting your fears.
“Bit by bit the stories make it safe for them to explore other ways to be in the world than what they grew up with. And so they can begin to create new possibilities and new stories for themselves.”
“I don’t wasn’t to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it,” said the poet Diane Ackerman. “I want to have lived the width of it as well.”
David, you definitely lived the width as well as the length of your life. And all of us who knew you are the richer for it.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Ritual at Spring Equinox
Last Friday morning I stood shivering on an exposed, windy hilltop with nine other very chilly adults and three small children as we waited to greet the rising of the sun on the Spring Equinox.
As dawn unfolded, Tomas, an initiated shaman in the tradition of the Huichol people of central Mexico, led our small group in a simple morning song ritual. Each of us held our “life arrow”: a small twig wound with different colors of yarn. Each twist of the yarn represented a prayer or intention placed into the stick for the new seeds we wanted to grow and blossom in our life in harmony with Great Grandmother Growth – Tatanakawey in the Huichol language. Later each of us would “plant” our stick, symbolically sowing these seeds to sprout in the warming days to come.
I thought of how people have been doing ritual for millennia, elders teaching the new generation; they, in their turn, passing on the teachings. And how much ritual – even the very simple ones – feed our hunger for community and connection.
Ritual helps us reconnect with the blessings of life that we often overlook in the midst of hurry and worry. And it reconnects us to the Great Aliveness called by many names in many tongues – God, Goddess, Yaweh, Allah, Buddha nature, Tatanakeway are only a few.
How do you incorporate ritual into your life to feed your soul?
As dawn unfolded, Tomas, an initiated shaman in the tradition of the Huichol people of central Mexico, led our small group in a simple morning song ritual. Each of us held our “life arrow”: a small twig wound with different colors of yarn. Each twist of the yarn represented a prayer or intention placed into the stick for the new seeds we wanted to grow and blossom in our life in harmony with Great Grandmother Growth – Tatanakawey in the Huichol language. Later each of us would “plant” our stick, symbolically sowing these seeds to sprout in the warming days to come.
I thought of how people have been doing ritual for millennia, elders teaching the new generation; they, in their turn, passing on the teachings. And how much ritual – even the very simple ones – feed our hunger for community and connection.
Ritual helps us reconnect with the blessings of life that we often overlook in the midst of hurry and worry. And it reconnects us to the Great Aliveness called by many names in many tongues – God, Goddess, Yaweh, Allah, Buddha nature, Tatanakeway are only a few.
How do you incorporate ritual into your life to feed your soul?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Launch Party Recap
We had a wonderful virtual launch party this past weekend! Thanks to all of you who came. Now that it's over, I wanted to recap our 12 winners and the prizes they won.
Story Fruit: Giselle M; Margie H; Jody H; Kappy R.
Tuning In: Katherine A; Theresa D; Janet C; Lynne Z.
The Soul Stories Workbook: Jan S; Norm L
Story Shaping Consultation: Diana S; Kay G
Congratulations!
Story Fruit: Giselle M; Margie H; Jody H; Kappy R.
Tuning In: Katherine A; Theresa D; Janet C; Lynne Z.
The Soul Stories Workbook: Jan S; Norm L
Story Shaping Consultation: Diana S; Kay G
Congratulations!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Myth or Fact?
Many years ago I spent two weeks traveling around Ireland visiting sacred goddess sites with a present-day Druid.
Michael looked like a cross between an old Irish farmer and a leprechaun. And he told wonderful stories! Small springs, back-country hillocks, stone cairns off the beaten track – all had a story attached to them. He recounted the old legends of Queen Maeve and the red bull of Ulster while we walked in and around a stone pen dating from the Iron Age that was reputed to have housed that very bull.
Were the stories myths or historical fact? It didn’t really matter. Our earliest ancestors throughout the world made no distinction between story and “reality.” In fact, they would have considered our distinction arbitrary and limiting and would have felt sad for their descendants.
As Laurie Fadave says in her book, Celtic Myth and Legend: “The ancient Celts viewed the tangible world (i.e., This World) as a physical manifestation of the Other World. The two are interdependent parts of one whole that together comprise ‘Reality.’ Without meaning to be too superficial, if one were asked where the Celtic ‘Other World’ is believed to be situated (akin to ‘heaven is up, hell is down’), one would say ‘you’re in it!’”
Michael looked like a cross between an old Irish farmer and a leprechaun. And he told wonderful stories! Small springs, back-country hillocks, stone cairns off the beaten track – all had a story attached to them. He recounted the old legends of Queen Maeve and the red bull of Ulster while we walked in and around a stone pen dating from the Iron Age that was reputed to have housed that very bull.
Were the stories myths or historical fact? It didn’t really matter. Our earliest ancestors throughout the world made no distinction between story and “reality.” In fact, they would have considered our distinction arbitrary and limiting and would have felt sad for their descendants.
As Laurie Fadave says in her book, Celtic Myth and Legend: “The ancient Celts viewed the tangible world (i.e., This World) as a physical manifestation of the Other World. The two are interdependent parts of one whole that together comprise ‘Reality.’ Without meaning to be too superficial, if one were asked where the Celtic ‘Other World’ is believed to be situated (akin to ‘heaven is up, hell is down’), one would say ‘you’re in it!’”
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Prescription for the Disillusioned
In today’s harrowing economy, where our fears can project a tomorrow that paralyzes our ability to dream a different story, a friend sent me this poem by Rebecca del Rio.
I wanted to share it with you because I think it speaks to the danger of clinging to “the stories of (our) life” – past and present – that cause us to mistake what was for what can be.
Prescription for the Disillusioned
Come new to this
day. Remove the rigid
overcoat of experience,
the notion of knowing,
the beliefs that cloud
your vision.
Leave behind the stories
of your life. Spit out the
sour taste of unmet expectation.
Let the stale scent of what-ifs
waft back into the swamp
of your useless fears.
Arrive curious, without the armor
of certainty, the plans and planned
results of the life you’ve imagined.
Live the life that chooses you, new
every breath, every blink of
your astonished eyes.
I wanted to share it with you because I think it speaks to the danger of clinging to “the stories of (our) life” – past and present – that cause us to mistake what was for what can be.
Prescription for the Disillusioned
Come new to this
day. Remove the rigid
overcoat of experience,
the notion of knowing,
the beliefs that cloud
your vision.
Leave behind the stories
of your life. Spit out the
sour taste of unmet expectation.
Let the stale scent of what-ifs
waft back into the swamp
of your useless fears.
Arrive curious, without the armor
of certainty, the plans and planned
results of the life you’ve imagined.
Live the life that chooses you, new
every breath, every blink of
your astonished eyes.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Songlines
Some of the oldest storytellers on the planet are Aboriginal Australians, whose stories go back thousands and thousands of years.
Landforms and animals that we see simply as rocks, watering holes, Perente lizards, kangaroos, even majestic Uluru (Ayers Rock) are, for Aboriginal Australians, not what they appear and more than they appear: they are the Songlines that enable the people to travel with absolute surety the vast, unmarked distances of the Outback.
"The knowledge of songs and paths tells us where we are going, without maps and compasses,” said Aboriginal elder Burnam Burnam. “It tells us what the desert and mountains can be expected to offer by way of water and resources. Bonds between us and land can never be broken while a person lives, regardless of the clothes we wear, the processed food we eat, or the cars we drive. (…) If people are in communication with their own essential nature, they will also possess a natural link to other beings and creation.”
We, too, need Songlines in our lives - stories that can help us find our way when we feel lost in the outback of our own fear, despondency, loneliness, hurt. Stories that can lead us back to our own essential nature.
What stories do you sing that help you remember how connected to everything you truly are?
Landforms and animals that we see simply as rocks, watering holes, Perente lizards, kangaroos, even majestic Uluru (Ayers Rock) are, for Aboriginal Australians, not what they appear and more than they appear: they are the Songlines that enable the people to travel with absolute surety the vast, unmarked distances of the Outback.
"The knowledge of songs and paths tells us where we are going, without maps and compasses,” said Aboriginal elder Burnam Burnam. “It tells us what the desert and mountains can be expected to offer by way of water and resources. Bonds between us and land can never be broken while a person lives, regardless of the clothes we wear, the processed food we eat, or the cars we drive. (…) If people are in communication with their own essential nature, they will also possess a natural link to other beings and creation.”
We, too, need Songlines in our lives - stories that can help us find our way when we feel lost in the outback of our own fear, despondency, loneliness, hurt. Stories that can lead us back to our own essential nature.
What stories do you sing that help you remember how connected to everything you truly are?
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