Friday, June 30, 2017


I once knew a storyteller, who told stories to the people around him. Because he believed that reality can sometimes be cruel, so he wrote in verses and hymns. He spoke of beauty and of heart, he spoke of courage and of honor and of art. He steadily as the sun shone and as honestly as the rain falls, straight down bothered only by the wind that blows. Even then, with the wind, the rain was not hindered but rather danced with the wind.

I once knew a storyteller who made people laugh. People smile, tilt their head to the side and awed at his ability to tell a story with candor and finesse.

Then something happened to the very same storyteller. After some time he grew dark and he grew dim. And slowly his stories faded. And replaced by reality. When people asked what happened, he said "the world needs the truth, if we shield our children with fairy-tales and stories, they will never grow knowing what the world is actually like."

So he stopped telling stories, and talked about the worst things in life, the hands that were stained with blood in the name of God, the definition of friendship as seen by the devil, a vessel fit for two in happy times and only fitting for one in turbulent times.

So one day as the storyteller sat across a table with drink in hand in front of me, I was overwhelmed by the need and curiosity to ask him:- "What happened?"

and he said....

"I grew up..."

The storyteller was now a man.

And when he was little, he spoke of many things, true and untrue, but mostly of beauty and heart, of courage, of honor and of art. As he grew the world robbed him of his imagination. And now he has stopped telling the stories. Now he tells people what he believes to be necessary. He doesn't tell stories anymore. And do you know what you call a storyteller who doesn't tell stories?

A person who whines.

1 comment:

bypijot said...

Deep. If we could be kids again.