Why I Tell Stories

Telling a good story is like searching for the sun in moonshine

Your proof of experience is whatever light you can confine

In that moment of searching
Is the light of the sun in actuality circling
But only an affected reflection at best

The blinding truth of that sun
Exists for only a glorious passing moment
And only in your mind
Before your pupils constrict and your gaze averts with changed perspective
You were born in the light
You remember the sun
But the illuminated innocence you inhabited was childhood
In the shadows of maturity
You must be reminded of that light
So you continue to search for the sun in the moonshine

You know the horizon will never yield and break into pure day somehow
You accept that twilight is the best you can hope for now
The truth of that moment sinks into everlasting night
The moonshine ebbs from full to crescent light
When the waxing starts

For a moment you realize what you’ve found
You decide to capture what light you can
While the moon still shines enough
Floods the landscape with ambiguous blue light
It shines the warmest blue
Breathes the coolest hues of night over your skin
You race to seize the light
With whatever you can
Pencils
Pens
Paint
Clay…

In your frenzy the light wanes away
You find a camera to take photos of decay
To see the truth you must look with your eyes
Artificial flashes only tell lies
Without the flashes the images blur

In your fear of losing the light
Adrenaline kicks in
Your mind slows the world down
Instinct commands you to lay your tools aside
You are the best instrument to capture the light
You wonder how you had forgotten
You were born in the light
You remember the sun
But in the shadows of fear
You must be reminded of why you are here
So you search for the sun in the moonshine

You sit directly in that ethereal ray and absorb it
The stillness makes the moonshine seem more brightly lit
You become the story as you carry its light inside
It is still far from the brilliancy of that far away sun astride
You know is on the other side of everything

The people around you can now see the moonshine
They see it in you
You share it
You have to
You pour it out until you are empty
Using the tools you so frantically searched for
When the story is over and your pouring is finished
You leave your empty tools and look up
Searching the moonshine for the sun again