The Storyteller

The difficult thing about being a Storyteller is finding the time to write. In our post industrial technocratic society man, woman and child are subjected to a fate similar to the wrath of God against Adam and Eve. We must work by the sweat of our brow, labor away all of our vital energy so that we can afford to maintain a semblance of dignity and pride. It is an unusual condition to be wedged between because most have become so habituated to this way of being (working) that they see no alternative. They have learned to love the hand that enslaves them and decry a life without hard work ( a classic case of conditioning). After all we know that the majority of hard workers are working hard only so that they do not have to be left with the time to take a deep look into themselves. They find their identity within their work because what is deep within them is devoid of substance. This is a catch 22 situation. You work hard and you loose your self but without hard work you loose your house. This is the great modern modern dilema- how to find the time to live your life.

Since, I have been working full time as a Teacher I have found little time to write. I long for the days when I posted upon my blog every day and read with great anticipation the comments that followed in return. I was telling my stories and people around the world were responding to what was told. As a Storyteller who has been burdened with the naging desire to write, tell stories and be heard (psychologists tell me this is because my parents did not listen or pay attention to me)- the outlet of a blog has been heaven sent. But now because of the curse of “working by the sweat of our brow”, I have had to labor away all of the hours of my day and night educating young minds about how to avoid getting stuck in this consuming rat race. We talk about ways to make a fortune before the age of twenty so that they can buy an island and live far away from this synthetic life-denying culture that us humanoids have created. We find critical solutions for problems of “work-addiction” and plan strategies for ways that I can escape from this society and join a race of people who live more in harmony with life rather than the preoccupation of working.

You may wonder how this has anything to do with being a Storyteller, and I would respond that it has everything to do with being a Storyteller. In societies that are consumed with progress and work the first species to become exiled our expendable are the Storytellers. The workers or citizens of these corporate republics do not want to be reminded of their servitude, their complete dependency upon forces outside of themselves. This is why Plato exiled poets from his Republic. “The poets will allow the people to see the many ways that the established government must manipulate the citizens into the cave and away from the light of humanity,” he said. This is what the Storyteller does- he/she makes people more human.

But I no longer have the time to write or spin stories in my head. I have been drinking more and sleeping less. All of my usual creative outlets have been plugged up by work. Time seems to have shortened. By the time I am ready to read and write my eyes refuse to remain open and willing to follow the words which exhaustion has caused me to read and write backwards. This is the world that I have found myself within, and yes it is the very dynamic that seeks to exile the Storyteller from the very body it resides within. Sometimes late at night when I am lying in bed, I can feel my body shaking and becoming tense. I grow restless and have difficulty staying still. It takes me hours to fall asleep and I know that these systemic sensations are the result of my inner Storyteller trying to escape from my body so that it can go some place else where it will have the peace, light and time to tell its many tales.

The End.

The Big Sleeper.

I have something deeply intimate to share with you. It is not necessarily information that will change your life in any way, shape or form- but I believe it to be important enough to share with the world. I am not necessarily proud of this confession, nor am I ashamed. It is simply a fact of my life that has become real enough to integrate itself into my way of seeing the world. My confession is simple: I am a big sleeper. No knew news to anyone who may know me. I live for sleep. I not only live for sleep, I work and strive for sleep. I am always traveling towards sleep. I am asleep a good part of the day and night. Sleep has become the only activity which makes much sense to me. All else is vanity.

I sleep on average of twelve hours a night and nap two or three hours during the day. There is not a person whom I am close with who does not hound me about the amount of time that I spend asleep. I will have plenty of time to sleep when dead or I am wasting the best and most productive years of my life- they pontificate at me. I listen with an open heart and sympathize. They are unable to understand the joys of elongated periods of sleep. I have never possessed a strong motivation to become one of great stature or to do things with my life that would move mountains. I prefer the slow contemplative life that seeks to absolve itself through reflective activities that negate the importance of action. I spend hours sitting in chairs trying to understand the body that I am sitting in. I focus my gaze on a sky that opens up eternity and I try to weigh my significance against this wide open space. I talk about the futility of action and follow the sun as it makes its course through the day. I often wonder if I am wrong in my conclusions but care not confuse myself more about what may be the correct answer. I eat little and dream about a time when I will live closer to nature and hear less human sounds. I wait patiently for the sun to set so that I can start preparing for my nights sleep.

When I am asleep my mind is at peace. I become a Yogi who is able to stop thought and exist clearly outside of time. My mind becomes so focused that there is no focus at all- I become a thinker without thoughts, a dreamer without dreams. Nothing interferes with the quality of my sleep other than a few noisy footsteps echoing forth from my neighbors upstairs abode. There is no worry coursing its way through my arteries, no fear trying to underestimate the quality of my experience. I am what some Guru’s or spiritual teachers may refer to as existing in a place of bliss, pure awareness of the nothingness of being. Sleep is my meditation, yoga and ashram. It is my temple and retreat center. It is my state of harmony and act of devotion. In sleep I am a fully enlightened being. It is only when I awake that I become the fool.

Many of you may feel as if I am sleeping my life away. I respect this claim but would retort by asking, are we not sleeping our life away anyways? Is life not one big dream? Do you not notice how quickly the future mutates its way into the past? We are all asleep in one form or another even while awake. There is no rhyme or reason to the paths we choose to roam while sleeping or living upon this earth. There is only time and the choices that we make about how we will spend this time. Some philosophers choose to spend their life sitting in a bathtub with books and a bottle of booze. Some choose to live in burrows beneath the ground. I choose to wrap my self up in the comforts of my blankets and sheets and fall away into a state of elongated peace.