On Getting Found (When Lost) + Live Conversation Today
When Story if a verb
Stories speak in rhythms, three is the magic number as it speaks to the cycles of life. It was the 3 sisters who wove the world into being, there is on your mark, get set go, past, present, future; birth, life, death; beginning, middle, end.
When I see the the rhythm of 3 in a story, or in the story of my life, it’s as if the universe is shining a light on an entry way to a secret passage marked by hints, passwords, and secret handshakes, and is beckoning, look this way, over here. Pay attention.
“We have this word rhythm in English. It’s related etymologically to arithmetic, and to rite or ritual. We have another word: tale, which is a synonym for story. But the verb form of tale is tally, the verb to count, or keep track of, or to commit to memory. All of these things are in both of these words. So when you speak things in a rhythmic fashion, it’s no surprise that the word arithmetic appears in the word. That’s what stories are: an arithmetic rendering of life—not to make sense, more to keep track; not to be too lost for too long, more to call somebody home who’s been out in the fog longer than it suits them. I believe in stories more than I believe in storytellers. If you study words, they’ll never let you down.”
Stephen Jenkison
In the last 2 weeks I have experienced 3 animals who were lost and needed some tending to make their way home.
It all began when I met a little dog who was living her best life. This little dog is fed the best food, goes on every single adventure, goes on boats, goes in cars, travels in planes, and given a plethora of love.
But not so long ago this little dog was lost, running back and forth on a highway for 3 days (I kid. you not!) when someone picked her up and brought her to the SPCA— where she claimed her human.
What a twist of fate! Was it luck? Serendipity? Or did that little dog do something right? Rather than wander deep into the woods, she placed herself on the highway were all the action was.
This story got me thinking:
When Lost:
perhaps
the best thing one can do
is place yourself where you can be found.
Over the course of the next week: I found 2 more animals, a bird who couldn’t fly, and Loki, a dog who took me on a long journey into considering what it is to be a guide.
Both of these beings showed it’s risky business being lost and vulnerable out there in the big world. And when one is lost, you really want the person who finds you to have the skill, capacity, and commitment to bring you all the way home. It got me thinking about what it means to be a storyteller, and how we guide people into the depths of their consciousness, and what a great responsibility this is.
I recorded these wonderings in this audio while walking through the roads of Kipahulu, may these sounds and sights entertain, delight, and inspire your own wondering.
Meanwhile, I’m curious: do you enjoy audio additions to the writing?
How are the metaphors of this story speaking to you?
LIVE CONVERSATION TODAY:
You are invited to join me for a live conversation TODAY with Samantha Sweetwater — we’re diving into a conversation about story, place, relationship with our ancestor stories, and so much more. When you register you can attend live, and then you will receive the recording.
Here is the link to join us today at 11:30am PST here.
In the audio — you will hear mention of the upcoming program:
(and big news: we are now opening a new module that will meet over the course of 4 weeks and will replace the 3.5 day module, in case that has been holding you back from telling your big story).
“Life is a storied proposition. Not a theoretical or hypothetical thing. It’s a storied thing. In that sense, story is deeply trustworthy. Because it seems to resemble the way life literally seems to unfold. Which is why the preliterate cultures (which is a terrible thing to call anybody) are principally oral cultures. Their entire means of reckoning and understanding, recognizing, relating, and loving are born along by Story. Story as a verb.
Stephen Jenkinson