My religion is one of stories. Stories written with style. Stories filled with emotion. Stories that reveal truth in the human experience. Stories that point out the absurd.
They show me a truth in what it means to be human. What it means to exist. What it means to feel pain. They open my eyes to new possibilities. They explore hard concepts like good and evil, redemption, justice, and kindness. Some of the stories are ancient, and it’s not always easy to tell the fantastic apart from the factual. Some of the stories I saw in movie theaters, and I’ve seen pictures of the person who wrote it, imagined the entire story.
And yet, regardless of the origin, if the story speaks to me, it speaks to me. Stories can explain the world in metaphor and poetry. The world can be explained in music and paintings. What it means to another person doesn’t seem to matter. And yet, sharing them can make all the difference.
The world can also be explained in logic and math. Unfortunately, the humans in this work usually prefer the math and they’re not easy concepts to explain with another language. Some are so difficult they have to invent a new language to even talk about it at all. Some create an illusion that the work is arcane and exclusive because it is difficult. A few like to pretend this makes their stories more important than any other. It’s a common human mistake. Although for some reason Latin’s been involved in a few, from Christian liturgies to scientific categorizations. I don’t know what the connection is there, yet. That language doesn’t play nice.
Learning stories from many sources is what I strive for. What better way than to gather multiple perspectives? The logical stories, with all their evidence and objective ideals, really are helpful. They help me look at other stories with an objective eye, and in doing so, better find lessons of love and compassion and hope.
You are in those stories, hiding. But not for long.