Kabala and the art of storytelling

I just got home from an evening of storytelling, or rather, listening to storytelling... it was a man versed in Jewish mysticism (among others) and while not everything he said jived with my world view there were a few nuggets of gold, and words of sagacity that have left me feeling a bit better about life, about myself. He asked us to think of a story that we had never shared with anyone before and to share it. I couldn't think of one, but then I did. In and of itself it is nothing terribly interesting, but the fact that I would still have it (in story format in brain) and not have ever shared it with anyone... well that has to have some significance, non? Actually it was unearthed because he had asked us to think about times that we felt blessed, and times that we blessed others, (meaning when a mentor acknowledged us or recognized us or when we acted as that mentor to others) The etymological root of "baruch" meaning literally to bend down, to lie prostrate to another = to bless, in laying ourselves out for others we are blessing them... interesting concept, I liked it... He then asked ut to think about moments of bitter dissappointment, when we felt that we were denied blessing, he asked us to recall the pain. The story that I never told wasn't interesting, not so much, because the pain is one that I can no longer access (in that particular context), it is a pain of bitter dissappointment in myself - one of the few times that I dearly wanted something and made every effort and believed in myself and still failed (I learned early to protect myself from the pain of dissappointment by not wanting anything too much... guess it doesn't always work:( It seems trivial now because it was just a story of not making a sports team, after having worked with the same coaches for several years... perhaps that is why it hurt so much because it felt like a betrayal, and the denied access to something that I had previously considered to be such a part of me. But it is telling because it is a story of my own personal failure, and normally the stories we tell are so that we can feel good about ourselves, or better, that is, to gain sympathy for times that we were done wrong... We tell stories to share our souls with other people, but then those stories can be used against us. But we never, or I never, would want to tell a story that demonstrates my inherent weakness, my true debility, the seams are never supposed to show, because when they do, the magic spell is broken.

He also talked about trust, about the armor that we use, and how we cannot feel the caress of a butterfly's wings if we constantly wear that armor, but that we also need to know who to trust, and how to trust. That telling stories is a way to build trust towards the unity of spirit, of community. I think I believe in community, the community of shared experiences, the comfort in others. I find that I need to be around people these days.

After the talk was over, I even got to meet people from other departments and play "dirty talk" scrabble, which left me in an uplifted mood. Of course during the event we were taught kabalistic triangular meditation, and he discussed how the overstimulated hypocampus that brought into unity the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems during meditation was the same as in orgasm. I'll have to try this more often, because I have never been very good at meditating, at letting go.

I felt for a few brief moments a seize the day sort of wave wash over me, and we talked about how basically all human decisions are based on two things: love and fear. I want my decisions to be based on love. I want it so badly, but perhaps I am still too much of a neophyte, uninitiated. We also talked about how true blessing is what finds you, not what you chase after, and so, it would seem that all the western models for success are truly unstable and of very little use. Am I going to change my philosophy of life based on one man's ideas? No. But there was quite a bit of practical magic in his words and for someone who is feeling the way I am, devoid of meaning, lost, weak... it is good to know that I am not alone, that there is a scaffolding upon which to rest my head and arms, a chest to lean against, a cheek to kiss, these things being metaphor for a caring community in which to build a life.

There was a particularly interesting man from Hungary, who had made a fortune and then lost it with the whole dot.com explosion, who I hope to get the chance to meet again. But it is funny how things happen in life, how people come into your life and leave it, and it is a mystery as to who will disintegrate and who will remain. I am perplexed by this idea, and at the same time intrigued... and of course it is the waiting that is the hardest... There is a cheap pop song (...is suddenly speaking to me... yeah art may imitate life, but life imitates... tv... ANI) that asks "how's it gonna be, when you don't know me anymore..." or something to that effect... it is a question that I have asked myself in different ways about different people throughout the last 10 years of my life, and I don't think that it is ever an answerable question, not in any real way... as Mr. Young says "the past is gone, but it's not forgotten"... I think that we never really stop knowing people, (at least ones that we really _know_) we just miss out on the details, and in some cases, stop caring or forget to apply the latent knowledge that we have. I don't know, maybe I am just being silly, and of course I would have to ask someone else, because I don't really know if anyone still knows me...

Ah well, no answers to the questions that plague my mind tonight, but maybe a better perspective.