It’s official – we’ve been looking in the wrong place. The poet Muriel Rukeyser has declared, “The universe is made of stories, not atoms.” Someone should go tell those clever scientists over in Switzerland the structure of the universe is not to be found chasing atoms round 17-mile underground tunnels, but sitting round dinner tables, bar stools and campfires. The structure of the universe is to be found in stories.
Gregory Bateson tells the parable of the man who asked his computer if it would ever think like a human being. The computer clunked and clicked, then finally printed out its answer, as computers do. The man ran excitedly to read the revelation. There neatly typed were the words: NOW THAT REMINDS ME OF A STORY.
Our perspective of the world, our view of reality is made only of the stories we tell ourselves. There is no other way. There is no objective reality (not from our perspective anyway). We experience something, filter it, store it, then keep retelling it as a story in our heads. That is where our reality lies.
So what stories are we telling ourselves? Which ones are helpful, which ones are not? Maybe I’ve got a few stories of my own to tell. First I will gladly say that, in my experience, stories can be changed. The ending doesn’t always have to play out the same way. The beautiful thing about our brains, as distinct from computers, it that the same cells that hold memory, hold imagination. We get to play around with our stories. Sometimes we make them horror stories, or tragedies, worse than they really are. Wouldn’t it be nice to believe that they could turn into adventure stories or fairy-tales; that there really were such things as happily-ever-afters?
Maybe life would become much more enjoyable, much more meaningful. Maybe we could be the heroes and lovers, wizards and kings we’ve always believed we were. Maybe…
