The Power of Storytelling
Storytelling for Adults and Children
Stories can be a way to heal, to find one's path, to see clearer, to put the magic of who we are into the Word. Yes, an alchemy of enjoyment, delight and surprise, very often mixed with a connection to something deeper and more profound, perhaps a learning or an insight.
For me, there is no doubt of the power of healing and awareness that comes through the stories I write. I can confidently say this from the experience of receiving the healing and insights myself while the stories were being written, and afterwards on reading them.
​Sharing these stories is a great joy to me. I hope they touch your Heart as they have mine.
A Story about My Mother's Passing
In hindsight, I can clearly see how storytelling and poetry got me through the grief of my mother's passing. There was a process. First I wrote a poem, then a short story, and finally a video with a digital story. This was all gradual and took about three years. The alchemic journey through these three stages (poem, story and video) is obvious to me now. None of it was planned, of course, but the path of dealing with the pain and ending with forgiveness and the joy of honouring of my mother is visible and felt.
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Below is the short story, which was the second stage in the healing process. I also read this story at the Port Moody Public Library in one of the Writers In Our Midst sessions. You can see the video of me reading here. I'm the third storyteller to read.
And if you'd like to read the poem, and/or watch the digital story about my mother, just click on the buttons.
The End and The Beginning
A Story about My Mother's Passing
The Storyteller looked up from his papers in aching anxiousness, for even though Life was continuously confirming that he should tell the stories, the dread of actually doing so could sometimes paralyse and nail him to the floorboards of any stage he ventured on.
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The Storyteller of Old took a breath and knew… that yes, this too was fun! This, too, was the Passion, a passion that could shatter all paralysis and fear into tiny pieces of nothingness! Yes, the passion could never be stopped, and the Story quivered in the Storyteller’s hand, begging to be told, revelling in its own excitement as those four magical words danced out of his mouth, “Once Upon A Time...”
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Carmy stopped writing and raised her head towards her mother, leaving the Storyteller of Old in open-mouthed suspense. Her Mother was so fragile, so defenceless and yet, so full of strength and timelessness in her 94th year. There, in the blanched hospital room, Carmy sat by her mother's side, knowing that perhaps, in a few hours, her mother's breathing would stop... not in temporary paralysis, but in a permanent finality that meant that Carmy would never ever see her mother breathe again. This was the finality that no one could ever be really prepared for.
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A single tear slowly rolled down Carmy's cheek. It was a tear that said it all in its simplicity; a tear that carried a piercing “happy-sadness” of, “Mama, I know you have to go! You're being called… I can see your wings. Mama, you'll be able to fly forever in timeless eternity. I understand, and I'm so happy for you!” ~ mixed with ~ “ It hurts so much, I’m so sad, Mama, don’t go...”
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Carmy breathed in the happy-sadness, consoled it, and breathed out a calm soothingness. She got up and rubbed her mother's forehead gently with lavender oil, whispering, “ I love you, Mama.. te quiero, Mama… te quiero,” the Spanish vowels caressing both women in familiarity and love.
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Wisps of fragrant lavender floated around the hospital room, swirled and spiralled, coating the two women with an ancient healing of wild meadows.
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Carmy sat down again and glanced at her notebook. The Storyteller was gazing up from the pages suspended in a sparkling reality. Carmy smiled, “Not now, not now my old friend...”
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The younger woman took her mother's hand and listened to the slow breathing. She closed her eyes, musing on the last few days, how she had become a mother to her mother, “Who am I?” Carmy had asked.
“Eres mi mama! You're my mama!”
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The moment had been so sweet, so tender that Time itself had melted into a pool of presentness, its ripples radiating a nectar that healed all wounds, forgave all wrongs.
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Carmy felt her Heart pull at her in a profound demand for her utmost attention. For, unseen, yet attached to both mother and daughter, was a lustrous thread of connection and lineage that would never be severed. It contained one clear message woven into its iridescent thread: Life would never ever end! This was just another beginning, a birthing into something we had called ‘death’, but that was so much more!
✨I open my eyes hearing how irregular her Mother’s breath has become. A single tear is rolling down her cheek. I squeeze her hand. “Fly, Mama! Fly! You can do it, my love! We'll be ok! We'll be ok! ¡Estaremos bien! Look at your beautiful wings! You can go, Mama! ¡Te puedes ir! ¡Vuela, mi Amor!”
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My mother’s body stops breathing.
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Is it really just like that? Is that it?
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It is.✨
In another dimension, close to the Heart, the Storyteller of Old looked up again at the people listening to him… and said, “The End… And the Beginning.”
