Friday, July 6, 2012

Story Telling Place


Story.


Such a room spills over with life-giving sustenance.

Friends smile a greeting that my eyes return.

Time slows.  Hearts open.

Laughter.  Tears.

I see a nod.  I hear a question, a prompt to go on.

With a mixture of surprise and relief, I do just that.

(surprise at being asked,
relief at being heard;

surprise that another wants to know,
relief that I’ve not said too much;

surprise that the strangeness can be unraveled;
relief that comes with saying it out loud)

I re-tell a sliver of my day that, up to this moment, made little sense.
Re-live the confusion.
Re-enact the mistake.
Re-feel the sadness.
Re-enter my own story, my friends’ stories.

And understanding emerges.
Spirit-glimpses.
Surprise. 
Relief. 
Joy.

Palpable blessing, this story-telling, this story-hearing.

Yet somehow, I’ve wandered away from the road that takes me to that place.
I’ve forgotten the way.
And I can’t hear their voices.
I am missing their stories, and they mine.

But I am hoping to return to the place.  To tell my story.  To hear theirs.




2 comments:

  1. Thanks for sharing. It is amazing how sharing our stories and hearing the stories of others can bless us and help us. I need to get back to that place where I hear and tell stories as well. Thanks for the encouragement to step out rather than staying in my own little safe box.

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  2. Oh this speaks to me of the necessity of vulnerability and availability. Sometimes I fear it would be easier to not share my story - because of past misunderstandings, judgements, etc. - but there is redemption in the sharing of stories, isn't there?

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