“This is what happened…”
Gilgamesh. Achilles and his rage. Beowulf. Juliet. Stories from the beginning of our history until our most recent telephone call begin with this idea understood. We listen and we are captivated. We place ourselves in the story. We identify with the characters in our own, deeply personal ways. We never get enough. We are always searching for new ways to tell our stories. We are always seeking new stories to listen to.
Sometimes the story is told to us as words. Sometimes other forms are more compelling. Seeing bodies fold, twist, and float in unimaginable forms through a dance; hearing sounds shift through order and disorder toward consonance; watching images magically projected in space before us. Regardless, we immerse ourselves in the story. We seek meaning in it. We strive to understand our own lives through the telling and re-telling of it.
Always the story must be told. Somber and sorrowful, glad and gleeful, campy and comical. Tell it over again and again. We will listen. We may even steal. There is always more to tell, there are always more to hear. So: let me hear it. Let me hear about Enkidu, Hector, Hrothgar, and Romeo.