Long ago there was a story so great and huge and wonderful that it almost couldn't be written. It was a story that belonged to many people, that could belong to everyone. It was a web, with parts coming from here and some from there. Some smelled of leather, some of rose, some of oil, some of salt. Some parts came from different times, many years ago or many years from now. Each was a thread and each storyteller had so many ways that the thread could be lost or unravel. These storytellers mostly just lived their lives, not really knowing that there were so many others, not knowing exactly who out there had the words just before or after their own. But they knew something in the dusty bits of salt, rose, oil, and leather that wove in and out of their conscious notice. And over eons this web wrote a story so great and huge and wonderful that it almost can't be read. It will break your eyes, it will take your language. It will melt your heart.
Do you see this as a warning or an invitation?
Add to it then, and be careful. Each electromagnetic beat of your heart is a sound that copies no other sound. Climb up and go. The long bones of your body want to show you why you're here. Make this body work for its meals and record the sounds of each day, put them together with the one before, or keep them separate and guard them. It doesn't matter. You will start to hear, you'll keep your eyes. Your truth sits at the center of a fire, cool and still. Your sacred part of the story has been here, written in your long bones, left white and bare by the fire of your life. Look down and read yourself, what's left of you after the offering has been made of embodiment.The threads of this story come together, great and huge and wonderful, woven from the still center of the storyteller's eyes.
Can you read what I've woven?
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