Interesting that you mention how your concussion has effected your practice. I’ve noticed the same thing (at least when I don’t resist it) with regards to sleep deprivation, which sometimes happens for me on retreats here. Thoughts start to become less linear and stories become easier to see through. It’s fascinating!

I too have been fascinated by stories as “vehicles for asserting our identity” ever since I discovered how unconsciously they ruled my life. When I was 21 my mom sent me the quote from Rilke that asks us to “Live the questions.” I remember thinking, “What does that mean? How do you live the questions and why would you want to?” And then it dawned on me. Out of an intolerance for not knowing the end of the story, I create one or I borrow one from my family or cultural treasure trove of stories. Even if it is a bad ending, we’d rather be puppets in a known story than live in ambiguity. I proceeded on pure faith that Rilke was right, that it is better to live the questions than follow a script. Little did I know how hard it would be! ha ha!

My essential practice became to explore those stories, and like you said, dismantling them by questioning them. I would discover a story, dismantle it and think, “Alright! Now I am not a puppet to my stories!” And then months later, I would be given the gift of seeing another story that was running beneath that one. Ouch… Over and over. Still it goes. I am humbled.

But even as hard as this practice is what feels harder to me is tolerating the excruciating ambiguity of when I am finally able to drop a story. What is left when the story is dropped? A state that requires the kind of trust that is nearly unknowable to me. If I have no story, what holds me? So hard.

I feel very grateful that I have experienced a slice of this sensation, of deep trust, as I rest in it, it strengthens and thereby weakens the stories that govern me. I celebrate the moments when I can experience ambiguity more like a hammock I can rest in and less like a tight rope, or more like the orientation of a child who is truly open-eyed and expectant. The moments I feel this are the happiest for me and when I feel my heart expand and open.

In a strange twist, my slow concussion recovery, has made these moments more available to me! Who knew? I guess my mind can’t rush to fill in the blanks, make connections and draw conclusions, so I am just left experiencing moments—an unexpected gift of this injury.

I love your words: “What stories want to come to life through you? Maybe you have a sense of that. Maybe you feel yourself pulled by something, a story, a beautiful story that wants to come to life through you. Good to know that.”

I love your idea of re-writing the story.

“We can create a new world with new stories. That is huge!”
I think it is a brilliant endeavor! A micro-example that felt joyful was re-writing my story “I can’t sing.” Re-writing that story allowed me to practice and sing Holy Night to my father as he lay in a hospital bed on Christmas Day after a stroke. His tears of joy made clear the result of re-writing stories.That’s a small one! Just think of the power of co-authoring the re-write of our bigger cultural stories, like “Depression is a sign of weakness” or “trust if for suckers.”

And thank you for your questions.

“What stories do I presently feel are most meaningful and wise?”
“What false or toxic stories from our media and culture have slipped their way into our consciousness?”
“What story or stories to I subscribe to about political change or progress?”

“The world is made of stories. Good stories are hard to come by. And a good story you can honestly call your own is an incredible gift. These stories are part of a bigger story that connects us all.” – Gary Snyder

Lin Yutang “Hope is like a road in the country. There was never a road but when many people walk on it the road comes into existence.”

Aho!