Story-Carriers and Truth-Tellers
I'm not saying don't remember, or that all things can be repaired,
but after the truth has been told, where do we go from there?
Sorrow is a constant companion we learn to walk beside:
keep on walking when it whispers and don't listen when it lies.
There are stories we were told just to keep us in our place.
There are stories we made up ourselves to save a little face.
There are the ones that made us crazy, and the ones that made us sane.
Keep on walking if the stories all start to sound the same.
--Carrie Newcomer
"Ghost Train"
The first time I heard this Carrie Newcomer song, it broke me open.
I am a story-carrier. I have loved carrying stories--my own and other people's--all of my life.
I am a truth-teller. I have felt the deep obligation to tell and live my truth all of my life. I have felt the pull to tell stories--stories of deep truth--all of my life.
At times, the weight of the stories I carried felt oppressive. At times, the sorrow embedded in them weighed me down so much that I experienced depression, hopelessness, lethargy. At times, I became so overwhelmed by these stories that I couldn't even distinguish what was true from what was untrue. Or, I became so committed to telling the truth that I couldn't imagine how to live that truth beyond the telling--couldn't see that the telling wasn't the end, but the beginning.
Over the years, I tried lots of ways to numb myself--over-drinking, over-eating, over-caring for others at the expense of myself, over-socializing, over-isolating...and the list goes on. Often the stories wore through my soul, and I became bitter, resentful, likely to do and say things I shouldn't.
Over the years, I've developed spiritual practices to keep myself centered. I've learned to listen more carefully to what my body and soul need, and to follow through with that. I've learned to stop carrying others' stories, and my own, like obligatory, oppressive burdens. I've learned to care for people with a more open heart--which has involved trusting in both my process and their process, and not trying to control either.
And yet, I sometimes fall back into old habits. I sometimes get so lost in the stories that they begin to sound the same--that is, I stop being able to take ten steps back, to look them over with an open heart, a sense of awe, a reflectivity that breaks them open. Or, I start trying to control them so that they can't breathe, unfold, come into their own truth.
And so I have learned to be gentle with myself. I've learned to start each day by holding my hands out and asking for help in carrying stories lightly and lovingly, in allowing them to walk beside me rather than carrying them as burdens. I send the vibrations of my singing bowl out into the universe, extinguish the candle, let the incense burn down to its natural end, and move into the new story of this new day.
I trust in the stories carried lovingly, lightly, and with awe.
but after the truth has been told, where do we go from there?
Sorrow is a constant companion we learn to walk beside:
keep on walking when it whispers and don't listen when it lies.
There are stories we were told just to keep us in our place.
There are stories we made up ourselves to save a little face.
There are the ones that made us crazy, and the ones that made us sane.
Keep on walking if the stories all start to sound the same.
--Carrie Newcomer
"Ghost Train"
The first time I heard this Carrie Newcomer song, it broke me open.
I am a story-carrier. I have loved carrying stories--my own and other people's--all of my life.
I am a truth-teller. I have felt the deep obligation to tell and live my truth all of my life. I have felt the pull to tell stories--stories of deep truth--all of my life.
At times, the weight of the stories I carried felt oppressive. At times, the sorrow embedded in them weighed me down so much that I experienced depression, hopelessness, lethargy. At times, I became so overwhelmed by these stories that I couldn't even distinguish what was true from what was untrue. Or, I became so committed to telling the truth that I couldn't imagine how to live that truth beyond the telling--couldn't see that the telling wasn't the end, but the beginning.
Over the years, I tried lots of ways to numb myself--over-drinking, over-eating, over-caring for others at the expense of myself, over-socializing, over-isolating...and the list goes on. Often the stories wore through my soul, and I became bitter, resentful, likely to do and say things I shouldn't.
Over the years, I've developed spiritual practices to keep myself centered. I've learned to listen more carefully to what my body and soul need, and to follow through with that. I've learned to stop carrying others' stories, and my own, like obligatory, oppressive burdens. I've learned to care for people with a more open heart--which has involved trusting in both my process and their process, and not trying to control either.
And yet, I sometimes fall back into old habits. I sometimes get so lost in the stories that they begin to sound the same--that is, I stop being able to take ten steps back, to look them over with an open heart, a sense of awe, a reflectivity that breaks them open. Or, I start trying to control them so that they can't breathe, unfold, come into their own truth.
And so I have learned to be gentle with myself. I've learned to start each day by holding my hands out and asking for help in carrying stories lightly and lovingly, in allowing them to walk beside me rather than carrying them as burdens. I send the vibrations of my singing bowl out into the universe, extinguish the candle, let the incense burn down to its natural end, and move into the new story of this new day.
I trust in the stories carried lovingly, lightly, and with awe.
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