Every story is a sad story because, like its teller, it has an end.

We are all story holders. When a story becomes restless, then we have to find a way to tell it. Some stories are so restless that once they are told, they go on being told over and over, wandering not just the face of the earth but the minds and hearts of countless people over many many years looking for repose.

Untold stories are aliens in our midst, stealthy in their ways, always pursuing their own ends. How much of our lives are repetitions of what we were not allowed to know in the first place? When we think this way, we understand why the storyteller has been accorded such a central place from the beginning, not so much for the sake of entertainment, but for the sake of redemption, although the best storytellers present their redemptive efforts in the guise of entertainment, so we can bear them.

A story teller and a story listener are the two halves of one tale. It is as much the case that story listeners move story tellers as that story tellers move story listeners.

The first person singular is already a creation myth.