Stealing stories

I have stories that I carry around and use when appropriate, like seasonings for conversations. Some of them I have over used like salt, and some are precious and stored akin to saffron. The other day I heard one of my precious stories used and told by a stranger. It felt like someone stole my story.

Now I started to wonder, why do I think that this is my story? Did it happen to me, or is it something I keep inside to treasure, and horde for possible future use? Can someone else tell your stories better than you? What really bothered me was that the tellers and the listeners were sharing it as if they had lived this story and it was theirs.

I have thought about this for some time now delaying this post to give myself the time needed to understand the distinction between what happened and what I was feeling. Where I have come to be that there are precious stories and there are common ones too. However all stories are by nature released out into the world once anyone tells it the first time.

So tell my stories and I will share yours. Tell me your most precious story if you dare!

Intuition or Impulse?

As a child I operated mostly on intuition. I felt my way through my early years. At a certain point in time, I started to doubt my inner voice and began to listen to the world around me. Over time, the outer world became louder and I stopped listening, except upon occasion to my intuition. Years passed and I got by, it seemed that listening to what others thought and being guided by that was what one should do.

I became impulsive and tried to push the invisible barrier between my outer world, my inner world and me. What I know now is that the louder one becomes the more silent and suppressed the inner voice becomes. I tried shock, surprise and impulsiveness to see how far I could go. I went a long way.

I lost my center. I became someone I did not recognize. I had mistaken impulsiveness and the thrill it brought for being in touch. So I started down the pathway determined to learn how to listen again.

Sometimes I think I am ADD, I can't concentrate for more than a few seconds, and the listening seems so foreign. Now with some practice and quiet, I can sometimes hear that inner voice. It is still very quiet and sometimes silent, but I do know the difference between impulse and intuition, between the outer and the inner. It’s not about one or the other it is about integration.

Father's Day

Dear Dad,

You have always been there for me whether I knew it or not. You always wanted the best for me whether I knew it or not. You watched me grow up, rebel, get married, have chidren of my own and eventually get divorced. You have watched me swallow some hard pills and do spectacular belly flops out in the world. And still you have never wavered from your view of me. When I am with you I feel that I can do anything, that you will listen to any story silly story or esaay I have written and you nod with wisdom when I have shared a heartbreak. And you have recently taken on the role of mother and father to us, your grown children since mom can no longer be that for us.

Of all the things you have taught me, it is through your actions that have been the biggest lesson. I see you as the embodiment of love in action; a promise given is not taken back because it is hard or frightening. You have shown me what integrity is, not by talking about it but by being it.

Thank you for the lessons you have given me, I have received them.

Your loving daughter,