Free Excerpt
The Storyteller ~ Chapter One. Enjoy!
I come from a long line of storytellers. Oh, I’ve lived many other lives on this blue planet you call Earth not as a storyteller, so that I could gather experience and be able to tell stories with some degree of veracity and compassion. But our little group in the other realm act as keepers of the stories and that’s the role we usually play when we come here to Earth. In case you haven’t guessed, I am a soul. Oh yes, and perhaps I should mention that I am presently a soul living here on this planet in a rather dense human body/mind.
My name on the Earth plane is Suzy, but that’s not truly my name. The name we chose for this entity is Sarah, and that’s what I’ve most often been called, so that’s what you can call me. If you need to call me anything at all. Names are an invention of humans to give them a space in which to carry on in the Earth-plane. As we go along, I am going to tell you some of the many many other lives I’ve lived ~ some as a storyteller, some not ~ but mostly I am going to tell you the story of Suzy.
We are not as yet serving as storytellers this time around, Suzy and I. Although we could have been ~ there are still traditional storytellers in aboriginal groups all over the world. But this human time I wasn’t born into a traditional clan. When I was in the teaching/learning dimension, where I most recently hung out, I agreed to come and be born into what is called in your human terms today a ‘first world’ country. Most aboriginal storytellers reside in third world countries, though some of course reside buried inside your ‘first’ worlds. As if there were separate worlds. As if it weren’t all one wonderful planet. If only humanity knew how spiritually advanced some of their ‘disadvantaged’ brethren are. But they don’t know because they measure things by money and power and technology at this time here on Earth. But I digress…
There are many talented ‘modern’ writers of stories in books, movies, television and all manner of new media out there. There is no shortage of stories. Alas, Suzy is not one such as that. Oh no, Suzy is a modern business person. Although we are a storyteller this time as well; only our human form does not know it yet.
My body/mind calls herself Suzy with a Z. She was born Susan of course, and when she was in her teens wanted everyone to call her Sue. When she got into her twenties she discovered that she loved the letters at the end of the alphabet so she adopted the name Suzy. Or Suz. And Suzy or Suz it’s been ever since. Born in Seattle, she often wondered why she had chosen to be born into the wild west rather than Europe where there is so much history; or Africa where there is even more history but so much suffering. Suz has always felt she’s led a rather charmed life. She married her high school sweetheart Joe just out of college. They were the best of friends, the best of lovers. They travelled the world together scouting for aboriginal art which they imported for the business they ran together for over fifteen years. It was a wonderfully satisfying and fulfilling life. They found some truly fabulous artists and launched several careers which lifted the artists (and sometimes their whole villages) out of poverty. They had never saved much for a rainy day though; life was so good and easy they just expected it to continue forever. They never really planned for the future. Life was a lively adventure. When they had the least bit of money, they traveled, for the business or for pleasure. They lived in Seattle on Lake Washington, had lots of fun, boats and fancy cars. They had two children, the perfect one son and one daughter. The daughter was recently graduated from college and doing very well in her career. The son had been accepted into an engineering program at MIT. Joe and Suzy had weathered the faltering economy precipitated by 9/11, and had begun to build the business back up to its former success.
And then one day while Suz was unpacking a particularly wonderful box of wood sculptures from Africa, turning them this way and that and running her fingers over the smooth dark wood, Joe called her. He’d been listless for several weeks since their return from the trip that had produced the very stuff she was now unpacking. Suzy would never forget that moment. One minute she was holding to the light a majestic rendering of a long-necked woman whose fragrant oiled sheen she was admiring, and the next her whole world went into tailspin. Joe had gone to the Doctor after Suz discovered him coughing up blood and there they determined he’d contracted a tropical disease. He had called her from the hospital where they were preparing to begin aggressive treatment. But it was too late. Her dear, healthy husband, who’d almost never had a sick day in his life, had waited too long to let anyone know how sickly he was really feeling. Within forty eight long, exhausting hours Suz watched him fade away in the somber green private room to which he’d been admitted. It was to be his final, demeaning healing place, smelling the damp deadly antiseptic smell of hospitals everywhere. The sight of Joe wired up to quietly ominous digital machines flashing bright wavy lines and with tubes sticking out all over, and the misery of trying to find a place to touch and comfort him remains with her still. At the end Suz hadn’t the emotional energy to comfort their two children, who were sorely in need of solace. She had simply collapsed, shocked, dazed and shattered. In the two years since she’d floundered terribly but was keeping the business up as best she could.
The telling of this story of my present incarnation on your planet is a first for me, as it will be told as it’s unfolding. Suzy, as mentioned, is not a storyteller, at least in the traditional way. But let’s let Suzy tell this one anyway…
I come from a long line of storytellers. Oh, I’ve lived many other lives on this blue planet you call Earth not as a storyteller, so that I could gather experience and be able to tell stories with some degree of veracity and compassion. But our little group in the other realm act as keepers of the stories and that’s the role we usually play when we come here to Earth. In case you haven’t guessed, I am a soul. Oh yes, and perhaps I should mention that I am presently a soul living here on this planet in a rather dense human body/mind.
My name on the Earth plane is Suzy, but that’s not truly my name. The name we chose for this entity is Sarah, and that’s what I’ve most often been called, so that’s what you can call me. If you need to call me anything at all. Names are an invention of humans to give them a space in which to carry on in the Earth-plane. As we go along, I am going to tell you some of the many many other lives I’ve lived ~ some as a storyteller, some not ~ but mostly I am going to tell you the story of Suzy.
We are not as yet serving as storytellers this time around, Suzy and I. Although we could have been ~ there are still traditional storytellers in aboriginal groups all over the world. But this human time I wasn’t born into a traditional clan. When I was in the teaching/learning dimension, where I most recently hung out, I agreed to come and be born into what is called in your human terms today a ‘first world’ country. Most aboriginal storytellers reside in third world countries, though some of course reside buried inside your ‘first’ worlds. As if there were separate worlds. As if it weren’t all one wonderful planet. If only humanity knew how spiritually advanced some of their ‘disadvantaged’ brethren are. But they don’t know because they measure things by money and power and technology at this time here on Earth. But I digress…
There are many talented ‘modern’ writers of stories in books, movies, television and all manner of new media out there. There is no shortage of stories. Alas, Suzy is not one such as that. Oh no, Suzy is a modern business person. Although we are a storyteller this time as well; only our human form does not know it yet.
My body/mind calls herself Suzy with a Z. She was born Susan of course, and when she was in her teens wanted everyone to call her Sue. When she got into her twenties she discovered that she loved the letters at the end of the alphabet so she adopted the name Suzy. Or Suz. And Suzy or Suz it’s been ever since. Born in Seattle, she often wondered why she had chosen to be born into the wild west rather than Europe where there is so much history; or Africa where there is even more history but so much suffering. Suz has always felt she’s led a rather charmed life. She married her high school sweetheart Joe just out of college. They were the best of friends, the best of lovers. They travelled the world together scouting for aboriginal art which they imported for the business they ran together for over fifteen years. It was a wonderfully satisfying and fulfilling life. They found some truly fabulous artists and launched several careers which lifted the artists (and sometimes their whole villages) out of poverty. They had never saved much for a rainy day though; life was so good and easy they just expected it to continue forever. They never really planned for the future. Life was a lively adventure. When they had the least bit of money, they traveled, for the business or for pleasure. They lived in Seattle on Lake Washington, had lots of fun, boats and fancy cars. They had two children, the perfect one son and one daughter. The daughter was recently graduated from college and doing very well in her career. The son had been accepted into an engineering program at MIT. Joe and Suzy had weathered the faltering economy precipitated by 9/11, and had begun to build the business back up to its former success.
And then one day while Suz was unpacking a particularly wonderful box of wood sculptures from Africa, turning them this way and that and running her fingers over the smooth dark wood, Joe called her. He’d been listless for several weeks since their return from the trip that had produced the very stuff she was now unpacking. Suzy would never forget that moment. One minute she was holding to the light a majestic rendering of a long-necked woman whose fragrant oiled sheen she was admiring, and the next her whole world went into tailspin. Joe had gone to the Doctor after Suz discovered him coughing up blood and there they determined he’d contracted a tropical disease. He had called her from the hospital where they were preparing to begin aggressive treatment. But it was too late. Her dear, healthy husband, who’d almost never had a sick day in his life, had waited too long to let anyone know how sickly he was really feeling. Within forty eight long, exhausting hours Suz watched him fade away in the somber green private room to which he’d been admitted. It was to be his final, demeaning healing place, smelling the damp deadly antiseptic smell of hospitals everywhere. The sight of Joe wired up to quietly ominous digital machines flashing bright wavy lines and with tubes sticking out all over, and the misery of trying to find a place to touch and comfort him remains with her still. At the end Suz hadn’t the emotional energy to comfort their two children, who were sorely in need of solace. She had simply collapsed, shocked, dazed and shattered. In the two years since she’d floundered terribly but was keeping the business up as best she could.
The telling of this story of my present incarnation on your planet is a first for me, as it will be told as it’s unfolding. Suzy, as mentioned, is not a storyteller, at least in the traditional way. But let’s let Suzy tell this one anyway…