Storytelling

When I was a little girl in the deep woods of Wimer, Oregon, I had the good fortune to meet two tremendous storytellers: Jim Martin and Barbara Griffin.

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How remarkable that in a tiny rural elementary school in the 1980's we would have, each year, days or weeks of live storytelling workshops. Some of my favorite memories include traveling to Mr. Martin's property and listening to stories around a smoking fire, or watching Barbara Griffin silence a room of rowdy nine year olds simply by lighting a candle, beginning the tale.

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Myth is medicine. Ancient stories contain formulas for healing and survival. I grew up immersed in myths and fairy tales, and as an adult I have come to believe that story is our inheritance and storytelling is our birthright. "To be a human is to have a story to tell," said Isak Dinesen. Stories call to us when we need them, come to us when we call them, and when we tell a story, when we allow story to move through us into the world, it transforms in a triangulation, a holy trinity of seeker, teller and myth, transporting us forward and back through the spiral of time.

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In this way, myth is magic. In my healing journey I was inspired by contemporary storytellers Martin Shaw, Robert Bly, Michael Meade to attempt my own tellings. It is an essential vulnerability, trying to tell a story publicly with a brain injury. It is about embracing the unknown, surrendering to the will of something larger than you. My writing teacher Jack Driscoll used to say, "The story knows more than you do, you have to trust the story," and I believe this applies not just to writing but the telling, too.

 

I share these tellings in the hopes that they will inspire you to trust a story, build a relationship with a myth, and bring it through you. We need this medicine now, this potent restoration of our ancestral human connection, and we need you: Your specific story, transformed by your specific life. Your powerful magic.

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By this and every effort may the balance be regained.