Story Sense

Story Sense

“Once upon a time,” began the storyteller, as he approached a bored village child in need of a story.

Startled by the sound of the storyteller's voice, the child looked up and asked, “Once upon when?”

“A time,” answered the storyteller.

“What time?” came another question from, the child.

“Back then,” came the answer and a sniff from the storyteller.

Taking a breath, the storyteller continued “…there lived a young one with lots of questions.”

“Are questions a bad thing?” queried the child, who loved asking questions.

“Not necessarily a bad thing; not necessarily a good thing,” replied the storyteller.

“That makes no sense,” complained the child, who always hoped for sense-making to abide.

“Ah, but it does make sense,” countered the storyteller. “It makes story sense.”

Becoming more confused, the child bravely probed further, “What is story sense?”

The storyteller smiled in response, and whispered to the child, “Story sense can only be known within the story as it unfolds through the thoughts, feelings, words, and actions of its characters, both villainous and heroic ones.”

As that wisdom assaulted the child’s sensibilities, a yearning began and she cried out, “More stories, we must all learn more stories!”

“Ah, yes, that is the beginning…immersing yourself in the richness of stories from every where, every when, and every who,” murmured the storyteller.

The child nodded and under her breath muttered, “So do tell on.”

The storyteller picked up the thread of the story, “So, that young one who asked lots of questions was an annoyance and a boon simultaneously to her village and her family.”

“How could she be both at once?” wondered the child.

“Good question, young one, and listen well to the story that you may come upon the answer to your ever so good question,” calmly replied the storyteller and continued the story.

“One day a stranger appeared in the village carrying a bundle on his back. He approached the first villager he saw and asked where he might safely remove his bundle and rest,” related the storyteller.

Unable to contain herself, the child blurted out, “A bundle, what was in the bundle? Was it special?”

“Shhh, child, all in good time. Listen well,” gently admonished the storyteller as he continued the story. “The villager motioned to the stranger to a shade tree in the middle of the village. There, go there. That is our safest spot because we all can see it and no one is allowed to disturb anyone resting peacefully there.”

The child simply responded with, “I wonder what will happen next,” showing she was indeed listening.

The storyteller went on, “The stranger relieved himself of his bundle, but kept his right hand resting lightly upon it, as if ready to pick it up in an instant if a threat was perceived. Day passed into night and the stars blazed overhead.”

“I think something is going to happen under the stars,” declared the child, steadily becoming more engrossed in the story.

The storyteller smiled and continued, “The stranger awoke under the stars and began to hum a tune about a song he had heard sung in his wanderings. The song was about having and losing the gift of good luck.”

“It must be awful to have good luck and then lose it,” commented the child.

“Truly awful,” confirmed the storyteller and then continued the story. “The stranger suddenly fell silent when he noticed that a small, cloaked villager was creeping toward him on hands and knees. He called out to the small visitor: Halt!”

“Did the small villager halt as ordered or did something awful happen?” worriedly speculated the child.

Without missing a beat, the storyteller continued, “The small villager halted momentarily but then drew even closer to the stranger who heard the small villager singing the very song he himself had been singing only moments before.”

“That’s strange,” commented the child who was now totally captured by the story.

“Yes,” acknowledged the storyteller, “strange indeed, and it made the stranger focus more intently on the small villager and call out to the small villager: Reveal thyself.”

“Oh my,” exclaimed the child, “did the small villager do that?”

“The small villager’s cloak dropped away and the stranger was stunned by what he saw,” revealed the storyteller and continued on. “Before him, the stranger saw not a human form but a small upright animal form with two long floppy ears, whiskers, and two feet larger than might be expected for such a small animal’s body.”

“It sounds like a rabbit. Was it a rabbit?” asked the child breathless with excitement, because she knew and loved rabbits.

“It was indeed a rabbit, but a very special one, whose whiskers were magical and could bring good luck or bad luck to the bearer of such whiskers depending on the bearer’s intent and motivations,” explained the storyteller.

“Oh dear, I don’t know what to make of that kind of magic,” admitted the child, whose understanding of the ways of magic was really quite limited.

“Listen on,” encouraged the storyteller.

“Tell on,” the child begged.

The storyteller continued, “The stranger asked the rabbit where he had heard the song he was singing, and the rabbit told the stranger that the song was well known among his kind. What was confusing to the rabbit was how this stranger happened to know the song as well. The rabbit told the stranger, “It was hearing the song that drew me into the village center.” As the two stood staring at each other, these two singers of the same song from different cultures, shouted aloud simultaneously, “How can this be?”

The child’s attention had never truly left the bundle, so she forcefully asked, “What is in the bundle?”

“Not yet, child, not yet. Stories require patience or they end before their time,” cautioned the storyteller and continued, “They both came to the following same realization in an instant: It can be because it is. The rabbit explained to the stranger that he had heard the story told in a community gathering of other magical whiskered rabbits that lived in hidden warrens scattered around the village. The stranger replied that he had heard the song in a gathering of storytellers and singers he had attended long ago.”

“But that doesn’t explain the bundle,” challenged the child.

The storyteller smiled, and lifted his voice as he proclaimed, “The bundle contains the hopes and dreams of the bearer. In this case, the stranger had always hoped and dreamed he would come across another living creature who shared knowledge of the song he had learned so long ago.”

“How does that connect to the magical whiskers? Doesn’t it all have to connect to make story sense like you said,” asked the child.

“Does life always make sense?” probed the storyteller. “Isn’t each one’s life another story?”

The child pondered aloud, “Life doesn’t always make sense, and we are definitely living our own story, connected in some places and disconnected in others…pieces and bits that weave a whole story. Is that it?”

The storyteller smiled enigmatically and sighed saying, “Could be, child, could be…the listeners to this tale must make their own decision from the telling, the listening, and the melding of story and life. Can you do that?”

"Yes," replied the child, "yes, I can."

"And that, dear child, is story sense," the storyteller affirmed and walked away into forest from whence he had come.

Author Notes: The author believes in the power of story and that a story well told makes its own sense.

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