In Native ways, talking story is the most powerful form of healing, especially when spoken by a channel or medium in a group setting.
The collective is joined by life experiences and the healing is told by the one who has come to accept, understand, realize, and honor the same but different occurrence.
In the telling of story is the presentation of spiritual concepts at work, much like Jesus on the Mount of Olives when he spoke in simple parable, it is the human way to understand the esoteric.
If you aren’t paying attention, it will seem talking story is talking circles, or somehow off topic, but I like to think it’s a moment to spiral out in words all the thoughts we hear but don’t organize.
It is the hearing of memory, the validity of or questions in life now witnessed. Once the story is witnessed, it changes all stories and loses its power. Both teller and listener are transformed, releases from the isolation of overly charged “special” circumstances because truth is, all are in this living together.
We cocreate a truth. Rewrite mythology. Share perspectives.
Real taking story is uncensored, more like stream of consciousness, sometimes you even lose your place.
I remember meeting my elder brother Navaho. First things first, “I’m fat and I’m trying to lose weight.” Just so you know where he is coming from, what he is praying for himself tonight in tipi, and just so you know, he’s not a perfect man.
My brother does this without wanting to, and in anxiety he will ask me, “Zonia? Why do I meet someone and immediately start telling them a personal story about my grandma?”
It's the healing way we live with our hearts open and ready to connect at a deeper level, these are the topics that mean something to us.
What was I taking about?
Rehear yourself think. Yes, this point I am wanting to remember, and it will spiral until it is spoken and words take flight.
I remember stories. Keeper of memory. Knower of experiences. The, well, in relation to that story, I once heard the story about, which is different from my story, and similar to yours, but not the same. The, yes, things happen. They really do.
What you are feeling or seeing is normal. Not at all absurd. Valid.
Want some tea?
I have some photos I want to share.
Yes, please. Tell me the story behind the image. Why do you store it here? Who does it say you have been and will be into the future more?
It is taking me years back to access that experience perhaps it’s time for now my experiences are.
Who we were, is not who we are. It’s what we do today as a result of yesteryears. But it’s a start.
We look at photo albums, a son has died but this is us before when his mother and I began. The father shows me pictures of himself with a big giant fro and beard grown in Amsterdam.
I have to laugh and say, "Hey! You realize I now can't concentrate on anything you are saying. I can only picture you with a big giant beard and fro!"
We show pictures to show people where we are coming from in the sands of time, we step forward through ages and deaths and beginnings anew out of the silence.
Hey, tell me a story. A good one. Make it a love story. Tell the truth. Laugh and cry. Be human to human, you and me. We have this life we are living. What is behind it, revealed in snipets.
I’m sitting in my car. A squirrel runs towards me across the road. Aspen leaves quiver in the winds changing season, towards fall I’ll be 43.
Tell a story. Which one? Where shall we begin? And how do I feel about it now?
Well, give me a second. I remember, this one time, let me use words and see if I can paint the story.
Heart, you’re the leading character. Don’t be shy.
The collective is joined by life experiences and the healing is told by the one who has come to accept, understand, realize, and honor the same but different occurrence.
In the telling of story is the presentation of spiritual concepts at work, much like Jesus on the Mount of Olives when he spoke in simple parable, it is the human way to understand the esoteric.
If you aren’t paying attention, it will seem talking story is talking circles, or somehow off topic, but I like to think it’s a moment to spiral out in words all the thoughts we hear but don’t organize.
It is the hearing of memory, the validity of or questions in life now witnessed. Once the story is witnessed, it changes all stories and loses its power. Both teller and listener are transformed, releases from the isolation of overly charged “special” circumstances because truth is, all are in this living together.
We cocreate a truth. Rewrite mythology. Share perspectives.
Real taking story is uncensored, more like stream of consciousness, sometimes you even lose your place.
I remember meeting my elder brother Navaho. First things first, “I’m fat and I’m trying to lose weight.” Just so you know where he is coming from, what he is praying for himself tonight in tipi, and just so you know, he’s not a perfect man.
My brother does this without wanting to, and in anxiety he will ask me, “Zonia? Why do I meet someone and immediately start telling them a personal story about my grandma?”
It's the healing way we live with our hearts open and ready to connect at a deeper level, these are the topics that mean something to us.
What was I taking about?
Rehear yourself think. Yes, this point I am wanting to remember, and it will spiral until it is spoken and words take flight.
I remember stories. Keeper of memory. Knower of experiences. The, well, in relation to that story, I once heard the story about, which is different from my story, and similar to yours, but not the same. The, yes, things happen. They really do.
What you are feeling or seeing is normal. Not at all absurd. Valid.
Want some tea?
I have some photos I want to share.
Yes, please. Tell me the story behind the image. Why do you store it here? Who does it say you have been and will be into the future more?
It is taking me years back to access that experience perhaps it’s time for now my experiences are.
Who we were, is not who we are. It’s what we do today as a result of yesteryears. But it’s a start.
We look at photo albums, a son has died but this is us before when his mother and I began. The father shows me pictures of himself with a big giant fro and beard grown in Amsterdam.
I have to laugh and say, "Hey! You realize I now can't concentrate on anything you are saying. I can only picture you with a big giant beard and fro!"
We show pictures to show people where we are coming from in the sands of time, we step forward through ages and deaths and beginnings anew out of the silence.
Hey, tell me a story. A good one. Make it a love story. Tell the truth. Laugh and cry. Be human to human, you and me. We have this life we are living. What is behind it, revealed in snipets.
I’m sitting in my car. A squirrel runs towards me across the road. Aspen leaves quiver in the winds changing season, towards fall I’ll be 43.
Tell a story. Which one? Where shall we begin? And how do I feel about it now?
Well, give me a second. I remember, this one time, let me use words and see if I can paint the story.
Heart, you’re the leading character. Don’t be shy.
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