Meeting Simorgh

'Journey' stories that tell of a spiritual quest have always fascinated me.

As a little girl I used to beg my story-telling great grandmother to read me The Pilgrim’s Progress again and again. I would listen in wide-eyed wonder at the young man Christian’s efforts and tests, shuddering as I anticipated the moment where the character called Ignorance, who like Christian, had managed to overcome many obstacles and get right to the gate of the Celestial City, but could not produce the essential document for entry, was carried by the Shining Ones to a door in the side of the hill from where he was whooshed down back to the bottom.

When my Iranian husband gave me a translation of a favorite spiritual journey story, the Persian mystic Farid-ud din Attar’s Manteq at-tair or The Conference of The Birds, I came across another set of sometimes enchanting and sometimes maddeningly obscure stories-within-stories that would freight me on another journey of deep understanding of the difficulties and joys of the chosen path, of deep identification with the Divine Presence, of affirming that presence within myself and all around me.

In its basic outline, the book starts of as the birds of the world gather together to seek a king. The Hoopoe bird acts as the sheikh, the leader and guide, tells them they do have a king, the “Simorgh”, who lives far away across seven valleys, though “He is always near to us, though we live far away from his Transcendent majesty.”

The Hoopoe also serves as Attar’s ‘voice’ – aided in the Persian language by the absence of quotation marks, which at first is confusing for the reader; is it Attar or the Hoopoe speaking? Later you realize it doesn’t really matter.

The Hoopoe/Attar says at the outset: “Do not imagine that the way is short; vast seas and deserts lie before his court. Consider carefully before you start; the journey asks from you a lion’s heart. The road is long, the sea is deep – one flies buffeted by joy and then by sighs.”

At first, the birds, “…Effusively responded to his words. All praised the splendor of their distant king. All rose impatient to be on the wing.” But reflecting on the journey’s length, they already show their hesitation: “… Their ambitious strength dissolved; each bird according to his kind, felt flattered, but reluctantly declined”

The birds, “each according to his kind”…

It’s easy to be amused at the penetrating pictures Attar paints of each bird just through its excuse, showing us the seduction that holds back each one from taking the first step. Only when we turn the mirror in, towards ourselves – a picture of our own reluctance and ‘reasons’ to embark on a journey we profess to desire strongly is shown up, and the amusement gives way to discomfort.

The Nightingale claims he cannot leave his beloved rose. “It is for me she grows. What greater bliss could life provide me anywhere than this?” He is shown to be seduced by being needed.

The seduction of the Peacock is his knowledge of the familiar. He is fixated on the past, lost now, but still definitely more real to him than: “The king you praise; too unknown a goal. My inward gaze is fixed forever on that lovely land – there is the goal which I can understand.”

The Duck is seduced by her present comfort zone – the water, but cloaks this as her proud obedience to the rules of prayer and purity that the water helps ensure. She makes no distinction between the purity of her environment and her own – the one implies the other.

For the Partridge his form of seduction lies in his possessions, his jewels he cannot be parted from, as he claims they are eternal. He rationalizes it this way: “To yearn for something other than a jewel is to desire what dies – to be a fool.”

The Finch’s odd seduction is her excuse of smallness and unworthiness; “I do not deserve to see His face” (… and so I cannot go!). One by one, many more birds make their excuses – and decline.

All this, before the journey even begins.

During the journey itself, those who finally set out – the hundred thousand – voice their fears, their doubts, their hesitation. Many give up at various points of the journey, some early on, some much later. For each one, the Hoopoe has a string of stories. Reading or listening to these stories unfold, the realization is strengthened – the birds are really us, who claim to be Seekers, but find our various reasons and excuses to drop out along the way.

Surprisingly, it is more than half-way through the book that a bird asks how long the journey actually is, and the Hoopoe describes the seven {italic}Wadis {/italic}, meaning settlements, abodes, often translated as ‘valleys’, beginning with the Wadi of the Quest, going on to the Wadis of Love, of Insight into Mystery, of Fulfillment, then Desirelessness, followed surprisingly by that of Bewilderment, till at last you reach Annihilation or Absorption.

Though I have read commentaries describe this as the ultimate stopping place, Attar adds two further lines, which gives me the same sense of listening to the part of the other story, where Christian and Ignorance wait to be allowed in – or not. Attar says of the seventh station, “And there you are suspended, motionless, till you are drawn in, the impulse is not yours …”

The entire beautiful work is about individual effort as well as what we can call ‘Grace’, both being necessary for spiritual progress.

Coming back to our birds, though “a world of birds set out”, after years of difficult traveling, there remain just thirty at the end, “thirty exhausted, wretched, broken things.”

They linger, at times hopeful, at times hopeless, as time passes, till finally a herald arrives. Discouraging at first, he urges them to fly back, but their passion and persistence are so strong, he unlocks the guarded door to the innermost Light of Light and gives them a page, which, when read would make known the concealed meaning of their journey.

The “fateful page” reveals to them the powerful, disturbing truth that it was them – it is us- that has made every decision and action undertaken throughout history; they are –we are – therefore, responsible for each of them.

And then, for the thirty who remain:
“There in the Simorgh’s radiant face they saw themselves.
They were the Simorgh and the journey’s end.
They see the Simorgh – at themselves they stare …”

This significant moment is so potent in the Persian language, as si is the word for ‘thirty’, and morgh is bird(s). The si morgh see the Simorgh.

It does seem like the narrative is hurtling to a sense of identification of Creator and creation. After all, Attar did admire the mystic al-Hallaj, who shockingly declared, “An al haq.,” which translates “I am the Truth,” even “I am God.” But Attar draws back from this radical stance. His birds puzzle: “How is it true that ‘we’ is not distinguished here from ‘you’? They hear: “I am a mirror set before your eyes. And all who come to my splendor see themselves, their own, unique reality.” And, “It is yourselves you see and what you are. Who sees the Lord? It is himself each sees.”

The last two lines in the translation of Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis have Attar send us out on our own journeying with: “I have described the way. Now you must act. There is no more to say.”

May your journeying be full of adventure and meaning.
Marguerite Theophil

This invitation to wonder is contained within the stories of all cultures.
These are not just quaint tales of old
but maps of the journey of the soul into connection with the creative source of life.
These stories are intended to spark the imagination
and kindle the fire that needs no wood.
~ Tony Cuckson

Preparing to receive the Gift of Story

‘Teaching Stories’ is a term used for stories and anecdotes, particularly those that come to us from the Sufi tradition, that were created as vehicles for the transmission of Wisdom.

Now, knowledge is something we can quite easily get from these stories or texts, but wisdom – ah that is something else; and something that requires a kind of “slow-simmer yet known in a flash” state of openness of mind. Ordinary knowledge can come quickly; wisdom can be maddeningly slow. Little wonder then, that we often settle for the former.

Idries Shah, whose translations and commentaries on Sufi thought and Sufi stories made them accessible to English-language readers, wrote that Sufi teaching stories are works of art which are used to transmit to us a Higher knowledge. We cannot perceive this Higher Knowledge because we are not prepared for it; mostly settling for a lower level, ordinary knowledge. We don’t even really know what this ‘Higher’ might be, and in fact, many of us don’t even suspect its presence.

Through stories, the preparation we need can be developed, by not only reading or listening to the stories once, but by getting to know the stories - studying them and familiarizing ourselves with them. Yet paradoxically, this ‘effort’ is never enough to get to the layers of deep meaning in them.

We get close to the wisdom of these stories by “soaking in story” as the students of the old teachers were required to do, so that their inner meanings are slowly made known to us, as we need them.

In fact, here is a story that illustrates this period of ‘preparation’:

There was once a woman who had heard of the Fruit of Heaven, which when eaten would give the person immense and immediate knowledge. She desperately wanted to find this. So she sought out a wise dervish named Alef and asked him: “How can I find this fruit, so that I may attain to immediate knowledge?”
“I would advise you to study with me”, said the dervish, “But if you wish otherwise, you will have to travel resolutely and at times restlessly throughout the world.”
She left him and sought another sage, Wajid the Wise, and then found Salim the Sage, then later she went to Karim the Crazy, then she sought out Ali the Secretive, even Rahman the Elusive, and many more.
This way, she wandered thirty years in her search. Finally she came upon a beautiful garden, and there in the center stood the magnificent Tree of Heaven, and from its branches hung the luscious Fruit of Heaven.
Standing beside the Tree was Alef, the first dervish she had met and questioned.
“Why did you not tell me that you were the Custodian of the Fruit of Heaven when I first came to you?” she asked him.
“Because then you would not have believed me. Besides, the Tree produces fruit only once in thirty years and thirty days.”

Some stories give up their meanings to us more readily; others don’t. For the second kind, a process of preparation is required, that is not the same kind of preparation our education system teaches us these days. Here, to learn something, you may have often to be exposed to it many times, perhaps from different perspectives, and you also have to give it the kind of respectful attention which will enable you to learn. Here, you are expected to ‘be’ with the story. Hear it, read it, say it aloud many times. Truly enjoy it; be-friend it.

These stories were not listened to or read to be understood through the mind only, but to be absorbed into the very texture of our conscious and inner self. Teachers of these Traditions understood that sometimes, we learn by adopting and absorbing the experience directly, even without the participation of our logical, analytical minds. After multiple hearings or readings, these teaching stories not only seem to reside in one’s memory, their impact can manifest itself a long time after hearing them, and in a manner quite different from what we expect.

In general, in our hurry to ‘get it’, Shah points out that if a person feels he or she has ‘understood’ a story, then he has understood it only at the level where he stands at present moment, or understands the story at the level of his conditioning. If one decides “This is the meaning”, there is a very real chance of blocking any further, deeper impact of the story on one’s inner being.

Sufism acknowledges that people have different capacities to understand esoteric and mystical learning, and its writings and stories and poems usually have several layers so that different readers will learn at the level appropriate to them.

I experienced something like this when my husband and I have worked on some translations from the Persian to the English of the poems of the mystic Hafez. There are times when a translation seems to be ‘going well’, you have the rhythm, the nuances, but you stumble at a turn of phrase that can say two rather different things! Which way to go? You try to approach it logically, rationally, to make ‘sense’. Then in frustration you set it aside. But not really, because it bothers you, however vaguely. Then after a pause, you find the courage to go back to it – and suddenly, you break through to another layer, and what you wrote before is no longer what you ‘hear’ the poet now saying! This is always a magical, mystical moment.

And for these reasons, I do believe that in spite of bringing the Sufi mystics more easily within the grasp of thousands of people, and in spite of having some very beautiful and inspiring poems for those of us who do not know Persian or Arabic, the creators of the very popular ‘versions’ (note – these are most times not even translations from the original language; they are often versions culled from other English translations!) do a great injustice to themselves and their readers. Even if the books do sell in millions.

The original creators of these poems and stories did not want to give us a ‘pre-digested’ form of the learnings, nor really something our minds could easily relate to. They were intelligent enough to do so if they had wished to. They also respected the intelligence of their students. They wanted us to be with the story, be with the poetry, be with the teachings that would slowly and surely leach their wisdom into our lives. We claim we don’t have time to let this happen these days – and are that much the poorer for this.

Jalaludin Rumi’s beautiful poems have been likened to the honey that attracts the bee; but he embedded within them deeper ideas, declaring, “You get out of it what is in it for you.”

For those who wish to learn most fully from Story, it is important not to consider any ‘knowing’ or ‘understanding’ - no matter how significant it may seem, no matter how useful an insight it gives - as the final meaning. We need to remain always aware of the possibility of another angle of deeper insight, another understanding, which may appear as a result of holding ourselves gently and respectfully open to the manifold gifts these stories have to offer.

May you soak in Story to prepare you for deeper understanding of the stories and of yourself. Marguerite Theophil

When Stories nestle in the body,
soul comes forth.
~Deena Metzger

New ways of seeing, new ways of being

Many Sufi stories and poems try to show that the only real wealth a person can have is their knowledge and wisdom. The Sufi student seeks to have her or his eyes opened to truth in whatever form it arises. Sometimes for this, a self-evident truth needs to be questioned.

The way of the Sufi is not to get trapped into believing that one religion or philosophy is the truth but to develop an openness which frees you to be able to reconcile opposing and seemingly contradictory ideas. Often, rather than lectures driving home ‘a point’ stories such as this one were told to make us ‘open up’ to such a learning.

There once was king who had two sons.

As they grew up, the first prince helped the people by working for them in a manner they understood; he built good roads and bridges, he opened more schools. The second prince was considered the lazy prince; he was a dreamer, and did not seem to ‘do’ very much. The first son gained great popularity in the kingdom, while the second, who was known to have obtained a wooden horse from a humble carpenter that he sat astride it most of the time, was ignored and even ridiculed.

Actually, this horse was a magical one; it could carry the rider, if he was sincere, to his heart's desire. In search his heart's desire, the young prince suddenly disappeared one day on his horse. He was away for a long, long time. One day, he just as suddenly returned with a beautiful princess from the Country of Light, and his father was overjoyed at his safe return and listened carefully as he recounted is many adventures and the amazing story of the magic horse.

The horse was then made available to anyone in that country who wanted it. But the people preferred the more concrete benefits which the first prince provided for them; though they half-believed the king, the horse to them always looked like a plaything.

When the old king died, by his surprising decree, the prince ‘who played with toys' became the king. But people in the kingdom continued to resent him; they much preferred the discoveries and activities of the practical prince.

Many of these stories and poems teach us to be cautious of a world defined and separated by ‘this’ and ‘that’, specially by labels of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. A translation of a poem by Jalaluddin Rumi goes:
Out,
beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.

Sufis have traditionally spoken of the development in a person of an organ of perception, which, once developed, allows a person to apply himself or herself more completely and effectively to life. And this development is often achieved through a "soaking" in story and poetry, that bypass our rational, give-me-the-one-right-answer mind, allowing our intuitive capacities to recognize the once-hidden but now revealed meanings within them. This might happen consciously or unconsciously, depending on the level of one's awakening.

In the form they are given, most such stories are perfectly suitable as children's stories, though young as well as older people like them. Most people stop there. Some go further, and appreciate their wry humor and entertainment value, perhaps seeing their neighbors or co-workers' behavior exemplified by some characters. Most of those stop there. Some are able to see their own behaviors and attitudes reflected in the stories. But these stories have far more to offer; they lead us to our True Self.

Sufi teaching recognizes that we have an essential nature that is spiritual, and that we are on an earthly journey in order to uncover this essential self. Stories act as powerful teachers on this journey.

Insight or recognition that is gifted to us by story can work to dislodge the comfortable structure that supports our habitual patterns of behavior, responses and comprehension, which often obscure insight into our True Nature. It is believed that the potential for transformation of the self is placed within us; however it is not usually accessible to us because of our limited perception and identification with our everyday and surface self.

Sufism tries to show us that what we think is important may be just a partial understanding of reality. A change in perception that some stories can open us to is often needed to shake us and awaken us to new ways of seeing, new ways of being. Through this, we are closer to becoming the 'completed' person who has seen the heart of truth, and from this vantage point is able to discern the vanities and blinkered vision of others, and more importantly, of oneself.

This is best revealed in the words of the mystic Bayazid Bastami:
I was a revolutionary when I was young, and all my prayer to God was: “Lord, give me the energy to change the world”. As I approached middle age and realized that half my life was gone without my changing a single soul, I changed my prayer to “Lord, give me the grace to change all those who come in contact with me. Just my family and friends, and I shall be content.” Now that I am an old man and my days are numbered, my one prayer is, “Lord, give me the grace to change myself". If I had prayed for this right from the start I would not have wasted my life.

May Story open you to your True Nature.
Marguerite Theophil

Doorway to the Interior

A story reveals its gifts only to those who enter it …
The key to learning from a story is to find
a doorway to its interior.
~ Michael Meade

Behind the fearsome mask

Baba Yaga is a character who appears in hundreds of Russian and Eastern European stories and fairy tales. Her image is an over-the-top scary one; an old woman, she is described as having a nose that hooks downward, a chin that curves upward, long greasy hair, iron teeth sharp brown fingernails, ridged and long. Known as 'old bony legs', Baba Yaga has a short temper, and a large appetite - specially for devouring children.

To further heighten the scary picture, we are told she lives in a clearing in a birch forest, in a place that is difficult to find, unless a magic thread, feather or doll shows the way. Her hut spins around on bright yellow chicken legs. Its bolts and shutters are made of human bones. There is a fence around it made of human skulls. She travels from place to place in a huge mortar and pestle, using a broom to erase the marks of where she has been. Wherever she appears, a wild wind begins to blow, the trees groan and leaves whirl through the air.

Given all this, it may seem strange that anyone would look for Baba Yaga or enter her hut. However, they do so knowing that she is wise - all knowing, all seeing - and tells the whole truth to those who are brave enough to ask. So the stories contain not only the fearsome descriptions – they include ways to approach this power and to get something valuable out of the encounter.

In many ancient societies, older women were seen as the keepers of wisdom and tradition for the family or tribe. No longer having to care for children, they became mother figures to the rest of the community. The older women were the keepers of the wisdom and tradition in the family, clan, tribe, and community. They were also the keepers of relationships, whether among people or with all of nature. They were healers and looked after the dying, and so were considered to have a deep understanding of the two great mysteries, birth and death. In fact, sometimes they were thought to have the power of life and death itself. To approach them was to find answers that are not ordinarily available to most people.

When we follow the various stories associated with Baba Yaga, we find she is more than just an ugly old witch, for she has power, making her worthy of not just fear, but of respect. The stories show how she offers wisdom and guidance to those who are brave enough to seek her and clever enough not to offend her.

The importance of Baba Yaga is reflected in her dominion over time. This is shown symbolically in the three horsemen, who are often talked of as her “faithful servants” -the White Horseman, the Red Horseman and the Black Horseman, who control daybreak, sunrise, and nightfall.

Baba Yaga guards the "Waters of Life and Death." Sometimes the "Water of Death" is indeed used for killing "by stopping the breath or freezing the lifeblood of whoever drinks it," but more often it is part of a healing process. In many Slavic folktales, "the first, the 'water of death,' heals the wounds of a corpse or knots together a body that has been chopped up. The second, the 'Water of Life,' restores life" In either case, it is often the wise old Baba Yaga or her serpent who looks after these all important waters.

Baba Yaga is depicted as a nature spirit and the guardian of the forest, as well as the protector of the fountain of the Waters of Life and Death. She doles out advice to those who are worthy and offers magic and gifts to the pure of heart, and punishes others who are mean-minded or arrogant. In another light, Baba Yaga represents the death of ego. She is the bringer of wisdom and death, as she personifies time and aging, as well as the wisdom that accompanies them.

The Czechs know her as Jazi Baba, and in Poland she is referred to as Ienzababa or Jezda. In addition to her official name, she is also referred to as the Guardian of the Underworld, the Mistress of the Forest, the Goddess of Death and Regeneration, the Wolf-Goddess, the Bone Mother, the Mistress of the Animals, and the Guardian of the Water of Life and Death. These powerful descriptions demonstrate the depth of this ancient figure, who is far more than the simplistic and wicked character she was assigned at the time when Christianity entered the region.

As terrifying as it may be to face Baba Yaga, to survive is to be forever transformed. She would much rather kill our ignorance than ourselves by forcing us to examine ourselves, and thereby finding our own hidden resources.

Inspite of Baba Yaga’s ruthlessness, stories about her also show how she keeps her word once it is given. In some stories, she has a helpful side and in at least one, it is shown that she can be lonely and in need of love and company. She expects respect, and gives grudging respect to people who respect her and are willing to stand up to her and carry out her tasks.

She is also a keeper of fire, which is the goal of many a quest to Baba Yaga’s forbidding presence. Characters who make the frightening journey are often portrayed as ones who have lost their own spark of individual creative fire. Heroines, who need to light the darkness for themselves and others, who need to feel the fire of creative passion, go to the deep forest dwelling of Baba Yaga, the keeper of the creative fire, to beg for fire for their hearths.She does not part with this fire so easily; she demands to know why she should give some fire from her fire stick to those who have been so careless with the precious flame. She will not give you the flame until you have worked for her and perhaps completed seven seemingly impossible labours.

Restoration, renewal, nourishment, and enlightenment can all be found by surviving a journey to Baba Yaga's underworld. To safely enter Baba Yaga's domain, according to Marion Woodman, "There are laws of civility in dealing with these sacred energies.” The seeker must have the courage to venture to place that scare her or him, to hold on to intuition and heart-connection, to ask for what one desires, to go through the tasks set before one. An important thing to remember to ensure survival is to approach Baba Yaga with great humility, knowing that while we do not have the answers, she does.

I have often been asked if the frightening images found in many stories is ‘harmful’ for children, and if they might encourage children to violent behavior. I can understand the fears that parents often might have in this connection, but it’s important to explore other aspects of the impact of such stories on young people. These stories also provide us with those aspects that we ‘adults’ often overlook, but which children often wisely relate to!

In The Uses Of Enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim throws some light on this: "The fairy tale hero has a body which can perform miraculous deeds. By identifying with him, any child can compensate in fantasy and through identification for all the inadequacies, real or imagined, of his own body. He can fantasize that he too, like the hero, can climb into the sky, defeat giants, change his appearance, become the most powerful or the most beautiful person- in short have his body be and do all the child could possibly wish for. After his most grandiose fantasies have been satisfied he can be more at peace with his body as it is in reality. "

This is one of the reasons why the scary characters in folk stories have been made so vivid. If, by identifying with a hero or heroine in a folktale, you can vicariously experience facing and triumphing over an overwhelmingly scary foe, then facing your own real life challenges seems a lot easier and do-able.

May you learn to delve deeper into the stories you read or hear.
Marguerite Theophil

Cutting doors in blank walls
Stories set the inner life into motion,
and this is particularly important where
the inner life is frightened, wedged, or cornered.
Story greases the hoists and pulleys,
it causes adrenaline to surge,
shows us the way out, down, or up, and for our trouble,

cuts for us fine wide doors in previously blank walls…
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Shaping reality

Reading the recent entries in my journal, I find I have been doing more than my agreed upon quota of moaning and groaning. In my reflection time after this, it struck me how much this attitude seemed to be inviting more of the same unwelcome stuff into my life.

I am fortunate that I do workshops on “Story and Healing”, because this time, while looking for stories to use for a coming session, I recalled several from different cultures that teach us about that in-and-out circle of what we put out into the world and what we receive from it. They teach us how we are co-creators in the Story that is our life.

While many would find it incredibly arrogant to say “We create our own reality”, mostly because it appears to ignore a Divine plan or intervention, we can certainly agree that our intentions, decisions and actions do help create – or shape - that reality in our lives.

All spiritual Traditions want to awaken us to this; the laws of Karma or Retribution, or the Golden Rule teach us this in different ways. And as Parker Palmer, a thought-provoking writer and educationist points out, all of them ask two related questions that help keep us awake to our own roles in this ‘creation’:

What are we sending from within ourselves out into the world, and what impact is it having ‘out there’?
What is the world sending back at us, and what impact is it having ‘in here’?

Traditional cultures illustrated this lesson through memorable and beautiful Teaching Stories such as this one from India:

Wanting to test the wisdom of his kings, Lord Krishna summoned King Duryodana, renowned for his power and might. While this enabled his subjects to live in plenty, they lived in great fear of his displeasure and punishment too. Lord Krishna told him: "I want you to travel the world over and find and bring back to me one truly good man." Answering "Yes, Lord," he immediately set out on his search.

He traveled far, meeting and talking to many people, finding out about their lives, values and actions, and after a long time, returned to Krishna saying, "Lord, I have diligently searched the world over for one truly good man. At heart they are mostly selfish and wicked. Sadly, nowhere could I find this truly good man you seek!"

Lord Krishna then sent for another king, Dhammaraja, well known for his wisdom and benevolence, and much loved by all his people. Krishna said to him, “Dhammaraja, I want you to travel the world over to find and bring to me one truly evil man." Dhammaraja also set out at once, and on his travels far and wide, he too met with and spoke to many thousands of people.

After much time had passed, he returned to Krishna. "Lord, I have failed you. I found people who are misguided, who perceive things incompletely, who act blindly, but nowhere could I find one truly evil man. They are all good at heart despite their failings!"

And another story, this time set in Greece, tells us much the same thing:
Socrates used to sit beside the gates leading in and out of Athens, observing the flow of people. Once, a stranger came up to him and said, “I am thinking of moving to this city; could you tell me what kind of people live here?”

Socrates asked him, “What kind of people live in the city that you come from?”

“Oh, they are terrible!” he answered. “They lie, cheat and steal from one another. That is why I want to get out of there.” Socrates exclaimed, “Why, that’s exactly how the people are here! You’d better not move here; keep searching.”

Some days later, another person came to him to ask, “Sir, I would like to see and learn more about other parts of the country, and maybe to live here, but first could you tell me what kind of people live here?” Socrates asked this man too about the people back home. “Oh, they are good people, kind and courteous, and usually help each other.” The Teacher responded: “It is the same here. Go into to the city and explore it, you will find it is just as you imagine it should be.”

So, tell me again - what did you say the people are like where you live, where you work?
Marguerite Theophil

Our true inheritance
The stories that have been preserved by different cultures around the world
represent our true inheritance as human beings.
It is through listening to them and thinking about them that we inherit the wisdom
built up by people over countless generations.

This is why storytelling is, and always has been,
the foundation upon which true education is built.
~ Gareth Lewis

The power of the Feminine

The story of Heracles, better known as Hercules, has been told in many ways for many reasons, but the overwhelming motif heard is one of power and manliness. So it comes as a big surprise to see in the Neuchatel Museum, a painting in which Hercules -- the ultimate male -- sits at the feet of Queen Omphale of Lydia, every inch of his muscled body focussed on `woman's work' of spinning thread. What's going on here?

Influenced by a sudden rush of madness, Hercules once imagined his family to be wild beasts and slew them all. Once he came to his senses, appalled at his action, he prowled the forests, making his way to Delphi where the oracle directed him to present himself to Eurystheus, king of Mycenae and to submit to his will. So he was set to complete the twelve tasks or `labours' for which he is so famous.

What is strangely not recorded in most accounts of these labours is this: After being successful at eleven of the tasks, Hercules was forced to interrupt his mission when Jupiter punished him for one of his fits of temper. This punishment for our very male hero, was to live as slave in Lydia to Queen Omphale, where she compelled him to dress like a woman and spend his time spinning and weaving for several years.

The anthropologist G Geichel-Dolmatoff, writes of the Tukano tribe of the Columbian rain forest, who define the human being as ``one who sees and hears the echo and thus knows''. This `echo', or keori, is `the essence of things', and ``hearing with the echo'' refers to knowing what it is that is being perceived, what it is that is being symbolised; not all people can hear it all the time. I find this a beautiful image for story-hearing.

If we listen `without the echo' this sounds like yet another punishment for his arrogance. Listening `with the echo', however, leads us to the deeper meaning of this story.

Now, the act of spinning and weaving, in the language of myth and symbol, represents a connection with the creative, formative power of nature. According to J J Bachofen, anthropologist and mythologist, these actions of spinning and weaving are understood to ``lend articulation, symmetrical form, and refinement to crude matter.... The crossing of the threads, their alternate appearance and disappearance, seemed to present a perfect image of the eternal process of natural life.'' Mythology teaches that it is the two sexes -- dual poles of life -- that together give to visible creation its beginning, its continuous renewal and its eternal rejuvenation.

Hercules, described as the irreconcilable foe of matriarchy, the misogynist in whose sacrifice no woman takes part, by whose name no woman swears, and who finally meets his death from a woman's poisoned garment, is expected to find wholeness through being made to perform what was essentially `woman's work'.

One of the functions of mythologies and associated rituals is to preserve the hint of a way back to lost unity, although the price that has to be paid for this is a form of descent, sometimes descent at it's ultimate -- death. This may be death in its most literal sense, or it can be metaphorical: a dying to old ways, to old partial patterns, and so to a claiming of one's wholeness of being.

Mythology, through story and ritual enactment upholds the principle of wholeness as a complementary play of the feminine and the masculine. Tiresias, the blinded seer, was both male and female. In India, the image of Ardhanarishvara, part masculine, part feminine, wholly divine, conveys more than the story; it holds and transmits the philosophy of the one. Ancestral images of certain African and Melanesian tribes have both -- the beard of the father and the breasts of the mother.

As Joseph Campbell has pointed out that while the hero is the one who comes to know, ``Woman, in the picture language of mythology, represents the totality of what can be known.'' As he progresses in the slow initiation which is life, the form of the woman/goddess undergoes for the journeying, questing hero a series of transfigurations; she lures, she guides, she helps him break his fetters. Without her, he is unable to fully access his own latent power.

May story teach us to listen more deeply.

Marguerite Theophil

Beyond the lines
Inside the world of story, our minds run free –
to do what children do when they are drawing –
to color beyond the lines, all over the pages.
~ Jimmy Neil Smith

How Story works

Story does not just entertain us; it helps us to learn, to grow, to find options and meanings, to heal, construct identities for ourselves and our communities, and to understand and honor our world – its environment, creatures and its different kinds of people.

Story pitches us into a space of multiple realities.
“Once upon a time, “ or, “Long, long ago, when animals used to speak to men and men to animals, and both to God, ” - such ‘beginnings’ toss us into another, more receptive space than the defined one we live and work in.

Unlike in this ‘reality’, where everything must fit and make sense, story offers us other realities, allowing for the unexpected, the magical, for awakenings and insights, clarity and direction, and sometimes for the persistently inexplicable to stay just that way!

Story delights and teaches people of all ages.
When I tell people I work with Story, they immediately assume that I work with children, and are surprised to hear my listeners are sometimes children, but more often educators, managers, therapists, clergy, and business people, ages ranging from twenty-five to ninety.

Story communicates through images.
Among Tellers, it is a known fact that stories are received image by image, not word by word. Our most enduring learnings happen through thoughts, feelings and connections generated by images. A true story I love is of a young boy, who when asked if he liked the TV or audio version of the same program replied, ”The audio tapes … the pictures were much better.”

Story helps us in meaning-making.
Story - whether about animals, fairies or humans - connects us with our humanness and links past, present, and future by teaching us to anticipate the possible consequences of our actions. I like Franz Kafka’s definition, that a story should be an ax for the frozen sea around us.

Stories sometimes give their answers pretty readily, but the ones we most learn from often generate further significant questions and reflections. While listening to story or reading for sheer joy is wonderful, sometimes we feel drawn to go deeper, to make a story our ally in meaning-making or healing.

Story has general lessons yet can be acutely personal.
It’s good to remember that while a particular story can open us all to the same idea, or teach us all a general lesson, really responding to a story is an extremely personal process. Each one will connect to different aspects of a story, responding according to a current ‘nurturance need’ - taking from the story what she or he needs at that particular time.

Story is ‘healing medicine’.
Not only Traditional stories, but also Personal Narrative can be inspiring and healing, and can be a powerful basis for personal, professional, or organizational development. Exploring and sharing true stories is valuable for self help or self improvement, even for community or organizational understanding and bonding, for team improvement, and to stimulate creativity.

Story helps community building.
“An individual, an organization, or a society that encourages and engages in story sharing
invites others in. Ignoring or withholding stories shuts people out. That keeps us ignorant and isolated; it is neither practical nor wise.” says a Teller, Dolly Haik-Adams Berthelot.

Since the time we gathered around campfires, or later collected in village squares, stories have helped teach, influence, and bind people together. Stories have fostered the understanding of self, of others, and of life - which is so important for creating healthy community. This understanding is deeply needed today, as we battle divisive forces, within and without. We can recover the wisdom and power of story to help us live and work together in healthy communities.

May using Story bring these wonderful gifts into your life.
Marguerite Theophil

The Teller’s task
Not only to entertain, but also to illuminate
the reality of potential, and draw forth the wonder
that lies only just beneath the skin of young and old alike –
this is what storytellers must both know they are capable of,
and never tire from attempting.
~ Katie Latimer

The stories that enchanted us

It is a great lesson in Personal Growth to examine those stories that enchanted us, that had a hold on us as children.

A careful study can reveal a pattern or ‘storyline’ that occurs in our lives. It is important to remember that the same story can have a completely different significance for different people, or for the same person at different parts of her or his life. Knowledge of this is itself a major step in understanding the moves and choices we make as adults.

Understanding a pattern becomes the first step in participating in the re-writing of our own story. As story-keeper Jonathan Young has so perceptively put it: “We may not be able to create the rivers that carry us along, but we can certainly navigate the little boats of our lives.”

There is much controversy about whether the elements in these stories, particularly fairy tale ‘horror’, is ‘good’ for children. Some experts declare that there is no intrinsic value in exposing children under six to death or horror or fright; others argue that all children have rich fantasy lives, filled with fears and anxieties. They struggle to cope with what they do not understand, or what they feel powerless against – mostly the world of adult expectations and adult meanings.

I asked several Tellers who work with children to tell me of their experiences.

Children who listen to or read stories are encouraged to imagine the consequences of an action; most stories contain the making a choice - or even an unforeseen event that requires choices. A story-worker who works extensively with young children claims that “the ability to imagine outcomes is not a frivolous pass time, but an essential skill that can contribute to a child's safety.”

Young people can identify with stories of perseverance in the face of obstacles and difficulties – “If he/she did that, so can I.” Or even “Oh – so there’s another way to approach this! Well….”

Listening to a story encourages visualization; the mind can make its own pictures, which can be a powerful learning tool, even for subjects like science and maths. Exercising the imagination grows mind muscle for new and inventive ideas.

A story touches emotions and deeply stirs memory. By making space for this as they grow up, children are taught – even if indirectly - to validate and even honor this aspect of their lives, that most learning seems to ignore at best, and marginalize or punish at worst.

While it may not be so possible to be considered a ‘hero’ in everyday life, when children talk of the stories that enchant them, there is a strong identification with the actions, the achievements, the popularity of a character or many characters – and sometimes the ‘connection’ happens in ways that surprise us.

Looking back at those stories that enchanted us, particularly as young children, we can see that the adventures in the stories often reflected the challenges we faced at that particular point of our lives.

At another level, a learning interpretation may be this: all characters represent various aspects of myself.

When the inhabitants of Hamelin refused to pay the Pied Piper what they had promised for leading away the destructive rats by using the tune of his pipe, he led their children away with his magical music. So - the children are the playful side of myself, attracted to magic, but not given to much analysis of the outcome; the village leaders could symbolize a practical, thrifty side that doesn’t respect or value magical qualities or artistic abilities. If I short-change my playful, imaginative, creative side, and give in too much to the ‘practical’, I may end up paying a heavy price for this neglect.

Looking back at our stories and reflecting on them can sometimes help us understand meanings, or more importantly – recognize and shift those meanings for a more fulfilling life.

May finding your Story-patterns teach you to move on in wholeness.
Marguerite Theophil

(See “Healing Re-tellings”)

More alive
When we tell and listen to stories, we can almost feel our souls breathing fully and deeply.
Our capacity to see options, to visualize possibilities, to imagine
expands and we are somehow more alive.

~ Michael Parent

Turning the fairy-tale inward

Traditionally passed down orally by mothers and grandmothers, fairy tales have always been tied in with women’s wisdom and power. The tellers were often the older women, instructing the younger ones through these tales which outlined social functions and living intricacies. While they worked at monotonous tasks like sewing and spinning, ‘necessary knowledge’ was handed over to the younger ones.

In a period of history where women had few rights, fairy tales were one way that women could make their opinions known. In the older tales the fairies themselves often stood for the aristocrats, having power over many but often caring little, bickering amongst themselves, concerned with their own power struggles. The heroines were the ones to comment on the double-standards of the times, on the painfulness of most arranged marriages, and the false glory of war. The best-known tales today are the ones collected by the Grimms and those written by Perrault, which, however, changed to favor the charming prince rather than the clever heroine.

Most of what we refer to as Fairy Tales today have fewer fairies in them as compared to the older tellings. The German term for fairy tales is Marchen; there is no satisfactory English equivalent. Mar-chen is the diminutive of Mar, a story or a tale, and came to mean a story of wonder and enchantment, which seems more appropriate to us today.

It is the Fairy Tale in the form of stories for children that we are most familiar with. Each of us can recall a childhood favorite - or two; those that we begged to have told to us again and again. And again.

I recall a young niece who, at around age four, had us read The Little Match Girl to her every night. Every night for two whole years. Thoroughly sick of endlessly repeating what I thought was a rather morbid story for a four year old – the ending has the little girl who sold match-sticks dying from the cold after she had tried unsuccessfully to warm herself on a cold winter’s night - I tried convincing her it was boring to have the same story yet again. I tried buying her lovely new books, I even tried firm refusal. None of this worked.

When she was around ten, I thought to ask her what she felt the story was really about. She said that hearing it, she felt ‘safe’ because a kindly old man had made friends with the little match girl, and,
“… there are always nice people, even in her sad life; people who are there to understand you.” My young niece had needed something else from the story and so had made it uniquely her own.
While writing this piece, I called her to find out what impact of the story remained after almost twenty years.

“I remember that I also loved the magic, the possibilities …” she said, and she recalled a part where, left with only three match-sticks, each one the little girl burned gave her the vivid image in the match-light of each of her deepest fantasies. The other little girl, my niece, in her moments of feeling lost or lonely, or simply not-understood by those around her, would later imagine she could light a match and see her wished-for world in it, and this gave her a lot of comfort.

Bruno Bettleheim in his analysis of fairy tales in The Uses Of Enchantment reminds us: “the fairy tale clearly does not refer to the outer world, although it may begin realistically enough and have everyday features woven into it. The unrealistic nature of these tales … is an important device, because it makes obvious that the fairy tales’ concern is not useful information about the external world, but the inner processes taking place in an individual.”

May Story bring you in touch with the deeper parts of yourself.

Marguerite Theophil



A lasting message
Storytelling is a powerful way to teach
any concept or principle to any soul,
because a well-told story touches the intellect,
tickles the humor, and embraces the heart.
Storytelling chisels in the stone of the soul
a lasting message.
~ Randel McGee

Creating your Story Storehouse

Why do we work with Story? Why have people over the centuries worked with Story?

Stories, while they delight and enchant us, help people see things in a wider perspective, make meaningful choices, work better in teams, live out of their declared values. Stories guide or invite individuals and groups to explore options for better living and working. And so we believe that Story is healing medicine.

As a Teller of stories, I am often asked by members of the listening group about just ‘how’ I knew this was the story they needed at this time. The real answer is – I never really know. But I have learnt that I need to trust the stories I choose and I must choose stories that can offer insights, not morals or prescriptions for living.

I use the gift and power of story in many areas of my work – with individuals, with groups of managers, educators, clergy or students – actually with anyone open to ways of learning that need not be usual or obvious! While it is helpful to know the needs of the audience, this is not always possible. I have come to understand that Story itself has much to offer to a variety of audiences, and I, as the storyteller, cannot always control the outcome. In fact, a lot of the time, I don't even know if or how an audience has been touched. All I can do is to hold this intent, and do my work in this light.

As in any work, if I have prepared myself over time – in this case by building a well-loved, well-used storehouse, I can, with some measure of ease an confidence, drawn on a particular story that will open people up to new ways of seeing, new ways of being.

Making the precious connection
Anyone can tell stories, but not everyone can tell stories well.

I try to explain to many would-be Tellers that it is simply not enough to ‘have a collection’ of stories, or stacks of books on Story. I have both of these – but I know that it is the many returns to a single story that builds up a precious connection.

I have within me a vast storehouse of stories that I have learnt to love over the years as they have taught me and I have learnt respectfully from them with each re-reading,
re-working and re-telling. And it is from my connection with the stories in that storehouse, that I try to choose a story that feels right for the moment, and I also choose a theme within that story to focus on.

I also believe very strongly that each telling gives me at least as much as it gives my listeners.

So I encourage those who love Story and those who would like to work with Story to nurture this interest by creating their own personal collection of stories that touch and inspire them.

Building your storehouse
A large collection of stories grows from that first story that enchanted you enough to want to tell others.

Different storytellers have different ways of collecting stories. Some just have a large collection of books, in which they stick in bookmarks to flag the stories they feel they can use. This needs lots of money – and a big house! The fact is -often in a whole, big book we find just one or two ‘right’ stories – and that’s if we get lucky.

Some Tellers I know actually make recordings of their favorite stories; again, storage is a bit of a problem, and so is the possibility of deterioration of tapes.

I prefer to write or type and print out the stories I think I could use. You can use loose sheets, a file-folder, or a notebook. Do whatever works for you.

Your sources can be books, listening to other tellers, or websites. I have found that some people are happy to have a collection of just ten or fifteen stories, and to use these favorites again an again. If that works for you – specially at first – then stick to these. Some - like me – love hearing new stories and using them, though we have our own stock of old favorites.

It’s important to know that the more stories you truly know well, the more you are able to ‘pull out’ a really suitable story, at the right moment, for an individual or a group. Story is for entertaining, yes; but the power of Story is its use for ‘healing’ and it helps to have a stock of healing remedies rather than to dole out your favorite ‘medicine’ that while it may not harm, may not do much good either.

In all of these cases, the key is: visit the stories again and again. Read them silently to yourself; read them out loud - to yourself or to others; tell them to different people of different ages; tell them differently. Really get to know them.

And may your story-storehouse grow, and delight you and all your listeners.
Marguerite Theophil

Growing story
Some are called to this healing art, and the best, by my lights,
are those who have genuinely lain with the story,
and found all its matching parts inside themselves and at depth ...
Persons such as these are immediately recognizable by their presence alone.

... Among the best of the teller-healers I know, and I have blessed to know many, their stories grow out of their lives as roots grow a tree.
The stories have grown them, grown them into who they are.

We can tell the difference. We know when someone has ‘grown’ a story facetiously, and when the story has genuinely grown them.

It is the latter that underlies the integral traditions.
~ Clarissa Pinkola-Estes