The Story Keepers
“More than story tellers, we are story keepers.”
There is a part of us that already grasps the story that is unfolding in our life. We like to pretend that we have forgotten. We love to hear the chanting of “wake up brother” as if any of us could really fall asleep. Those people crying wake up…who are they speaking to after all? Nobody here is really asleep. If you stopped and asked any stranger if they felt they were aware and consciously living their life they would either say, huh? Or, you betcha! I am voting on the latter.
I caught a whiff of a memory and I let it flow through me…
I sit playing in the garden, alone like most days. I am caught in some fantasy my mind is creating, living in a world I love best. I play here every day or as often as I can. On this day, I begin to wander into my life. I am 7 years old, a slight child of blond hair and blue eyes, prone to injury. Already I have scars upon my body. I begin to play with what my life will look like from the place I am sitting as I grow up. I watch my life unfold year after year, attending the small town schools, rolling into the country bumpkin high schools and small minded folk of my birth town. I watch as I emerge a young woman still trapped in this small town; and, the 7 year old me begins to cry. At first, it is tears of sorrow which transform into sobs of fear and protest. The only thing I can think is NO! This cannot, will not - be my life. I am filled with such despair that I actually feel something inside of me snap. Then, a sense of peace washes over me as the tears began to slow and then stop all together. I am exhausted. I do not know how but I am certain that the life I have just envisioned is not the path that will unfold for me. It might be the logical path. It might be the probably path. But this path is not a path I will choose and somehow, in some way, what I have seen will be altered and transformed into something…a little more palatable.
I forgot about that image. Some people might call it a vision. To the imaginings of a child it was just another place I had come to play and found lacking. About a year later, my parents told us they were getting divorced. While I was sad that my parents were separating, I felt a sense of relief rush through me and I knew that this thing that had come to be was in part my creation. I played my part as the sad and remorseful child filled with regrets of her parent’s separation. But inside, I knew differently and I had never been so completely grateful in my life. I have never since been so completely certain of my ability to move and change my life simply by the intensity of my emotions.
There are stories dying to escape from us and we spend our lives pushing them back down because there is no place for this story here, not is this reality that we call life. Only, things are changing, and maybe there is room for a new story. We have a wisdom that is always speaking to us, a call that is difficult to hear but certainly not impossible. Each person who comes into our lives brings with them keys. As we reconnect, these keys will begin opening doors within us where our treasures have been buried all along. Perhaps then we can ask ourselves, what stories have we been keeping? Isn’t it time they were told?