As I relinquish myself to this night's sleep,
My rabbit ears bring me TVO images
Of Rushdie speaking of his books.
And of his drive to write them.
He says, after all, the human is
The only animal that is Storyteller.
I muse on this in dreams and awake
To re-read Gaiman's American Gods,
A story of humans and their gods
And their mutual need to believe
In each other...
In each others' story...
To be associated with story...
To be Story.
All the while L. Cohen
Sings via iTunes and
Brings tears...
Hallelujah! in the Tower of Song.
I pause and remember
Tiff's Not Wanted on the Voyage:
The old god who invokes
Noah's participation
In extending His story.
How in the stage version
Noah's family search each other's
Faces for understanding...
Then nod in confused acceptance
Of Noah's story.
Leonard says there’s a crack in everything.
It’s where the Light gets in…
A crack in this very wall!
I can hear it about other cracks in other walls.
The Light is always the same.
It is the Light of Recognition
Of human spirit... it is the Light of Knowing
Our part.... it is the Light of Acceptance
Of life... and its cycle with death.
Leonard, as well as Salmon, Neil, Timothy et al
Shine Light on snippets of my own story.
That Light exposes myself to myself.
I guess we each choose storytellers to call our own.
Some write, some sing, some tap dance,
Some seek directly the hearts of others.
After all, we need each other to sense...
To discover...
To find...
The Story...
...Bette Forester
...Toronto
...30 July 11
