Once, on a dark winter’s night, two strangers were wandering the streets of a quiet village looking for somewhere to stay. They travelled separately. The tallest and largest of the two wore a thick, luxurious travel coat and moved with a graceful confidence; whilst the thin, waif-like stranger wore a ripped, haggard, old robe and walked in bare feet, head hung towards the ground.
Noticing one another, the strangers sat down at the side of the road and began to speak about how they may find lodgings that evening.
The tall, well-dressed stranger said that he never had any problems finding anywhere to stay: “Wherever I go I am welcomed in with open arms and given the best seat by the fire. I am invited to stay for as long as I like and eat and drink until I am full. My name is Story.”
Glumly, the second stranger hung her head and said “Wherever I go people slam the door in my face. They say they want to know me, but when I arrive, they are angry and I end up out in the cold, all alone. My name is Truth.”
Story took Truth’s hand and said “My cloak is large and warm. Why don’t you slip in here and travel with me from now on?” Truth smiled and climbed into the cloak, tucking herself in.
And so, it was from that day forth that Truth and Story travelled the world together, going to villages in all parts of the Earth. Next time you hear a story, see if you can notice Truth hiding in the folds.
I learned this story from Liz Weir, Northern Irish children’s writer and storyteller. Of all the stories I learned while staying at her little storytelling haven in the Glens of Antrim, this is the one that stuck with me the most.
To tell stories is human
Storytelling is a central part of our humanity. We use it to learn from one another, build community, share connections and create new visions of the future. Storytelling is undoubtedly as old as humanity itself and archaeologists have discovered cave painting of short stories over 30,000 years old.
One of the theories as to why storytelling works so well as a teaching tool is that when it’s done well it engages all of our senses. Some people learn best through visual tools like images and diagrams, others are auditory learners and prefer listening, while some are kinaesthetic learners and learn best by doing and feeling.
A great story engages us on all of these levels: it paints a visual picture in our mind helping us to see the action unfold; it engages our minds aurally using a rhythm and pace which should be easy to follow and stay engaged with; and through our connection to the characters we feel the emotions of what happens in our own bodies. All learners can engage with stories in a way that works best for them.
In many ways storytelling is an embodied art, connecting our mind and body and energy. A great storyteller will build a world that lights up your imagination. They hold the energy of the room in a way that allows them to build suspense, using words like musical notes to take us through the rhythm of the story. When we listen to a great story we really feel the emotions and our body responds as though it is actually happening to us right now – this creates dopamine which helps us to remember the story and its teachings.
What is truth?
Just like ‘story’, the embodiment work I do is also about exploring truth in a way that’s gentle to our systems.
I don’t think the people who slammed the door in Truth’s face were bad people. I think they were scared, because the ferocity of truth can sometimes be too much for us to bear. This is why our clever, wise, bodies often come up with strategies to keep us disconnected from our truth when we’re not yet ready to face it. And yet our body always knows what truth feels like when we reconnect with it once more.
Think of a time when you realised a deep truth in your life. Perhaps it was when you were in an unhealthy relationship, work environment or friendship and you suddenly realised, with your whole being, that you had to remove yourself from it. Or when you visited a place and you just knew, deep down, that you were supposed to move there. Or maybe it was when you met someone and you just knew that they were supposed to be in your life.
When these moments of truth have washed over me, I’ve felt it on a visceral level. It’s almost like a settling of sand in a body of water, I can feel the sediments forming as all the pieces fall into place and the swirling movement comes to stillness. I feel calm, clear, solid. I may or may not feel happy with my realisation, but either way I know that it is true. And I may not be able to explain why it is in any logical way, I just know.
Melting layers of frozen tension
My work in feminine embodiment involves meeting the layers of frozen tension which obscure our inner truths. The frustration, confusion, numbness and anger which is keeping us from connecting with that deeper knowing. These layers are not wrong – often they have formed as a self-protective measure. But once we are ready to connect with our truth once again we must move through them in order to get to it.
If we have truth forced on us without moving through these layers, we are likely to reject it. Anyone who’s ever tried to convince a friend to leave a terrible relationship will know this all too well. It’s only once our friend is ready to face the reality of their situation that they will be willing to see the light.
Feminine embodiment work involves creating a safe, non-judgemental space, which allows us to meet the depth of our emotions as they arise and to move through them with grace, acceptance and love. It strikes me that story is one of the ways we do this collectively and intuitively.
The journey makes it come alive
All great stories make us feel something, carrying us through great peaks and troughs of emotion until the deeper truth of the story gradually dawns on us. We feel the despondency, frustration or uncertainty of the hero when they walk down an unknown path.
Our heart rates quicken as the teller creates fears and suspense. Emotions that we may evade and run from in our own lives, we turn towards knowing that they are part of what builds the magic of the story.
We’re usually taken through multiple rounds of build-up and relaxation, before finally reaching a climax in the story and an answering of the many questions we’ve developed about what will happen.
As we take it all in we come to understand a deeper truth, like…
“The world is not black and white, but made up of many shades of grey”
“Love can heal us”
“Nature holds the answers”
And as the story has been so alive within us, we feel this truth at a much deeper level than if someone had simply told us it outright, and insisted we believe it.
The slow unravelling of a story echoes the slow unravelling of our own inner experiences as we gently reconnect to them. And just like Truth is tucked away inside Story’s cloak, she’s also tucked up in the deepest, darkest parts of ourselves. Our ancestors knew this, and intuitively so do we.
That’s why we love stories. They take us back to ourselves.
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