“To survive, you must tell stories.”
― Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before
This quote seems to sparkle on the surface. So much of our existence seems due to the stories we tell ourselves. Our stories reflect, inflect and infect our being. Who was I there? Was I hero or victim, bystander or villain? Did I save the day or get lost in the woods? Did I grow or did I sink into despair? Is that story over yet or is this just a brief respite in between chapters?
Yet I wonder are stories truly necessary to survive? When we meditate isn’t the idea to shut the stories down and be in silence? If so, then what part of us needs the stories to survive? Does meditation give us the necessary space in which to change our stories, change ourselves? Stories may be necessary but we can keep improving the stories told.
Blessings, G
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Solar Plexus by G A Rosenberg
Heart’s Mist by G A Rosenberg