“The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin
If a story exists but is not communicated does it still hold meaning? Each of us live our stories every day and yet if there is no expression of self in our lives, no way in which we communicate our story than what meaning is gained by it? To me, each tale I hear communicated, each life in which I somehow share whether by talking with people or experiencing their art, music, writing enriches not only me but spreads out in ripples with everything I share. For to experience someone else’s story is to make it part of our own story and part of our being. This in turn even if it is not on a conscious level gets communicated by me in my own art, writing and speech. Perhaps it will only be a turn of phrase, perhaps a colouration of mood yet my expression becomes touched by everything that has touched me. We live in a web of interconnection. With the internet our stories become spread even wider and more pervasive to the point that we tangentially touch almost every other story in the world.If we have but the perspective to appreciate it.
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