The StoryField

An economy of relationships

Relationships grow out of shared experience. These relationships form a kind of economy, one that supports us and nourishes us and that is worth valuing as much as we value the cash economy of free-market capitalism.

Years ago when I lived in the Comox Valley on Vancouver Island, I was inspired to get involved in my community. Near my home, a river-front property known as the Quan Chow Lands was slated for development on what was essentially flood-plain. I and others joined up to see if there was another alternative to building seniors’ housing on this fertile patch of land, at one time the site of a successful vegetable farm. Though there was a lot of energy to save the land, the developers won the day and the project, Canterbury Place, went ahead. Ironically, the land flooded even as the foundations of the new houses were being laid.

Healing and Storytelling

There is an apocryphal story about an anthropologist who leaves a television in a village in Africa. (We can presume that the village either has regular access to electricity or a generator.) For a while the community gathers around the talking box with great interest. But when the anthropologist returns some months later he finds his gift covered in dust and cobwebs. He asks the villagers why they haven’t been watching it. One of them replies, “Your box knows many stories, in fact many more than our storyteller, but the difference is, our storyteller knows us.”

This comment can be read and understood in a couple of different ways: the village storyteller knows what kinds of stories are most relevant and familiar to her listeners. She knows when and what to tell. Like a mirror, she reflects back to them their own world and their own history, as well as their own potential as moral agents. She sees who they are and she sees who they can be.

Welcome to the Story Field

The universe is made of stories, not atoms, says the poet Muriel Rukeyser. Think about it. Every account we give of ourselves is a narrative of one kind or another. Every life form has a narrative shape by virtue of coming into being, existing for a certain period of time, and then passing out of existence. But no story and no life exist in solitude. All stories interweave. And no story is ever static. No matter how much we long to believe in a “perfect ending” we can be certain there is no final destination where nothing changes. (And if we view heaven as just such a place, then it’s sure to be the opposite of heavenly—a kind of hell realm of unrelenting sameness.) Since we ourselves are always changing, the story we live, and the story we tell, are always changing as well.

Here’s the question: if the universe is made of stories, what kind of stories are we telling? What kind of stories are we living? This is what I hope to explore on this site.