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Buried at PhotoCasket.com"Tonight, I’m certainly going to tell you a story, but ‘tis a story with a difference because, unlike virtually every other tale I tell-in this case, I was there. And yet I know that although I was there, and I saw people who were real, they have since become somewhat imagined-because I now view them through my memory. That’s something every human being does-but storytellers live by it.For many years I have had two powerful loves in my life; I have had them for as long as have been able to think clearly about my feelings; I have carried them in my heart, and they have defined my existence. When they were joined by a third love, my life felt completed, a circle closed. My feelings for these three-I shall call them “entitiesâ€-have been my salvation, although it has taken me until now to understand that fact. This realization broke upon me gradually; I had no epiphany, no blinding light, no voice booming down from on high. Slowly I began to grasp what they have meant to me.My sadness is that I do not have a fit receptacle for what I have learned. I know that one exists, but the fates and fortunes have not yet removed the obstacles between him and me, have not given me an easy access to the dispensing of such wisdom as I have where I most wish to place it.But we all do that; we merge our myths with our facts according to our feelings, we tell ourselves our own story. And no matter what we are told, we choose what we believe. All “truths†are only our truths, because we bring to the “facts†our feelings, our experiences, our wishes. Thus, storytelling-from wherever it comes- forms a layer in the foundation of the world; and glinting in it we see the trace elements of every tribe on earth."
