A really big secret

I have laid out my fears and I have acknowledged that this is a complicated story but now I must begin the telling. My story telling begins with a short tale. It does not come from my background or religion, I am not Jewish, and so if I have made an error in the telling please do let me know because I do not want to provide incorrect information. I have chosen to share this tale with you because I hear in it a lesson about all stories and all remembering. I first read it in Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ book “The Gift of Story: A Wise Tale About What Is Enough” I have adapted it in my own telling.

There was once a man known as the Baal Shem Tov. He was a beloved leader and intermediary for his people. One day the Baal Shem Tov knew his time had come and that soon he would not be in this world. He called his people to him and said, “I have taught you where to go on the mountain. I have taught you how to light the fire. I have taught you the prayer. Do these things, and God will always come.” His people were sad, and perhaps they even felt fear at carrying forward what their leader had taught them, but they knew where to go on the mountain, they knew how to light the fire and the knew the prayer. They did these things and God always came.

In the second generation the people struggled to remember the exact path on the mountain and so they did not try to go there. They lit the fire with care and they spoke the prayer. God always came. By the third generation people could not remember anything about a mountain and so they did not search for a path. They did not know the meaning of fire and so they did not light one. But they did say the prayer and God always came. By the fourth generation the mountain went unnoticed, fires were never made and the words of prayers had been forgotten.

But one man remembered the story of it all. He spoke the story out loud and God always came.

In my story, in my generation, we have forgotten to speak the story of it all. We have not forgotten God, but we have forgotten ourselves. And so how can love come?

Many white people stopped seeing other people as human. They stopped seeing parts of themselves as well. When they were filled with fear, when they were filled with hatred, when they were filled with shame, and most of all when they were filled with silence, they lost parts of themselves. In my life, I have discovered that pieces of me are missing.

When I become lost or don’t know the right thing to do, when I sit in moments of silence and struggle with my inner critic, the truth of who I really am, a human being, can always come back to me. In my life, through owning my mistakes and through my choices, I remembered the story of it all. I am speaking this story out loud. I know that it will hurt and I am afraid, but I also know that I will never again forget to love.

And so I end this blog post with the the beginning of my own story, “One day, a short blond haired blue eyed rebellious sometimes right sometimes wrong Afrikaans girl discovered a really big secret at the bottom of a dark dark pile of shit. Love will always come.”