Words and storytelling give us tools to amplify wonder and joy in the everyday.
I walk across the park on my way to work through falling snow. Momentarily, I lower my eyelids and open my inner eyes. I am surrounded by myriad crystals, each unlike any other, that in moments will cease to be.
Later, amid the forced exodus of a fire alarm, I am blessed by a single, perfect flower-crystal that rests on my coat’s puffy black sleeve. I wonder, without that amplified perception that I chose to tap into earlier, would I have overlooked this gift?
Once again, I seem to have used a combination of knowledge and internal storytelling to fuel my sense of joy.
Through listening to and reading the stories of others, we build the tools we need to frame our own experiences. Without words or narrative skill, we cannot reference or fully inhabit what happens to us and our responses to it; we cannot focus our thoughts or our emotions.
Stories give us metaphor, the stuff of the ‘creation of meaning’. They give us legends based on archetypes that enable us to recognize the rich cast of characters that inhabit our inner worlds.
Our ability to tell our own story and, further, to be aware that we choose the particular narrative that we tell ourselves and others, has a profound impact on our capacity for happiness.
The quality of our personal storytelling, as well as our capacity to listen to and truly hear the stories of others, is fundamental to our ability to connect, to build relationship.
Storytelling enables us to share our experiences and our perceptions of them and thus to show each other who we are. Our stories bind us together by connecting us to the commonality of symbol and myth and to our shared humanity.
Does forgetfulness in the form of senility return us to innocence? If we loose our words, is the rift healed? Is there a primal self beyond our intentional self that is more authentic?
Continue reading “Should we forget . . .”
A comment on my earlier post ‘The Word’ suggests that, whilst words enable us
. . . to be uniquely human by allowing us to carve off pieces of what is in order to bring it into ourselves, they also dissect. Once we’ve created that division – identified what is, and thus what isn’t, there is always that rift…
I wonder, do the words create the rift or simply allow us to live with and explore it?
Continue reading “Uniquely human . . .”
A recent exhibition at the Royal Ontario Museum, Joshua Neustein: Margins drew on the work of Edmond Jabes to engage in ‘a poetic, visual reflection on writing, religion and archaeology’.
Jabes speaks often of what happens beyond the text, that which exists in the margins beyond the margins. . .
Continue reading “More words, margins and the journey to silence”