Story is the articulation of the passage of events over the course of time. In a way, it seems to sort of freeze into place, or preserve the happenings of the present moment. The present moment leaves a wake behind itself. Expressing highs and lows of vibration, resulting in a wave like or spiral like pattern of peaks and troughs.

And the stories we tell, the recollections of events, take on this shape as they outline the patterns of this passage. If a verbal story is the crystallization of a series of events, can we draw a comparison with physical form… of matter? Rocks, crystals, plants, animals, the earth and human beings… we are made up of material that arose out of a present moment, and has taken shape for some period, before ultimately falling back into the source from which it sprang.

In this sense, perhaps we can say that a story is not only a verbal or mental construction, but can also be a physical manifestation. We don’t just hold stories in our minds or books,. the world as we know it is literally made of stories.. it is a story. One that is constantly evolving, changing, fading away and reemerging. The story exists on multiple levels, from the most gross down to the microscopic and quantum.

Amongst life as we know it, it’s roots are in the DNA which constitutes the fabric of our being. Our DNA holds the story of our lineage… passed down through the generations… again, crystallizations of the events and experiences that have taken place over millenia… the byproduct of evolution and epigenetic imprintation. Yet, I think there’s something in many of us that says we are more than our bodies, we are more than this earth or the physical reality we live in.

We are not just our DNA, but there is something about us which underpins our earthly existence. There is something about who we are that transcends our lifetime… that extends far before and will endure long after our time here in this incarnation. But what is it? Our souls? Our spirits? Our true nature?

There seems to be some thread, some continuous sense of self which permeates the cycles of time. Which weaves together the revolutions of the universe, the manifestations of this reality, and all the stories which permeate it and their fleeting physical existence on this plane. The forms come and go, the surface level stories come to life but then pass away, and what is left, what lives on, what is revealed through these unravellings are the stories of who we really are.