The Spiritual Wisdom of Horton the Elephant

Rocci Hildum

An Original Sermon

I have discovered that I am a spiritual nomad, journeying in search of spiritual wisdom, insight, enlightenment and truth. In my journeys I have learned that I often travel the same landscape, recognize familiar landmarks and meet the same obstacles and challenges … over and over and over again. I have met and re-met many companions on this journey. I rediscover ancestors and mentors and learn and re-learn important, and not so important, lessons.

One of the things that I have learned is to seek out mentors, people of spiritual maturity, to be my companions on this journey. I have also learned to judge critically those in whom I will place my trust and confidence in the matters of the Sacred and Mystical. 

I have been inspired and enlightened by the writings and teachings of many people whose names you may recognize; people like Thomas Merton, St. John of the Cross, Thic Nhat Han, Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Dalai Lama. I have also sat at the knees of less known and yet gifted persons unfamiliar to the world apart from their space in it. People like John and Margaret Jones who manage Camp Myrtlewood in Oregon and Joseph Helfrich a musician in Ohio and Tanaka, who I only know through story.

Here I will offer that the world has very definite opinions about the persons and institutions in which religious and spiritual wisdom is found. It has been my experience that the world is not only sometimes wrong as in mistaken, the world is sometimes wrong as in a lie.

Spiritual wisdom and insight and giftedness are found in lots of persons and spaces and experiences that are unknown, unrecognized, or rejected by the world. I have come to believe that some of the most inspirational and creative spiritual wisdom can be found in persons and spaces and experiences that are distinctly apart from recognized, established religion. By its very definition, established, dogmatic, religious wisdom stifles the creative and new.

So it has come to me that I also find spiritual wisdom in the most unlikely, and yet passionately true, people and spaces and experiences. I have been touched by the Sacred by a little girl who gave me a shell. I have found great spiritual truth in the Calvin comics and I have experienced the presence and movement of the Spirit in the desert of the state capitol. Many unlikely places are the very incubators of spiritual wisdom.

So it has come to me that one of my spiritual mentors and companions has been Horton the Elephant. Horton has become for me a teacher, a source of inspiration. Horton’s own example challenges me and guides me.

We know little about Horton the Elephant. The extent of the published material about Horton is contained in just two books written by Ted Geisel, Dr. Seuss, Horton Hears a Who and Horton Hatches an Egg. But even in these two short pieces, Horton’s spiritual wisdom speaks to me and this is what I want to share with you today.

Now what we know about Horton from Geisel’s writings is that

On the fifteenth of May, in the Jungle of Nool,

In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,
He was splashing … enjoying the jungle’s great joys …
When Horton the elephant heard a small noise.

So Horton stopped splashing. He looked toward the sound.

“That’s funny,” thought Horton. “There’s no one around.”
Then he heard it again! Just a very faint yelp.
As if some tiny person were calling for help.

“Some poor little person who’s shaking with fear’

That he’ll blow into the pool! He has no way to steer!
I’ll just have to save him. Because, after all,
A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

Did you get that? Most people miss it. But listen. Listen deeply with your ears and your heart and your soul. Listen with passion. Most people still don’t get it and to me it has become as obvious as an elephant splashing in a pool. Horton, hears the tiny person. There is no voice that is so tiny that it escapes Horton’s hearing. Granted he is an elephant and he does have pretty big ears.

We have ears. How often do we not hear. How often do we miss the voice crying out; even when it is so obvious - in our place of work, on the street, in the city hall, and in our own homes. People are crying. I have been challenged by this because I see the truth, the ugly painful truth that we most often miss the smallest voices.

From Horton, I have learned that no matter what

My listening and hearing I cannot forestall
Because a person’s a person no matter how small.  

But there’s something else here too. Horton, by advantage of his superior hearing and his spiritual wisdom knows how to listen. Horton heard that small, small voice of the Mayor of Whoville, which was located on a speck of dust. But then Horton saw the dust speck on which the residents of Whoville reside and which was slowly floating down toward the pool, the very pool in which Horton was at that very moment splashing.

Horton didn’t wait for someone to tell him that the tiny voice was at great peril. He didn’t form a committee or join a focus group (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Horton didn’t seek out someone else to make sure he was really hearing a tiny voice. Horton, because of his own spiritual maturity knows that he is hearing a tiny voice and knows that that tiny voice is on the dust speck he is seeing and he further knows that that dust speck is heading right to the pool and that there’s not enough time for a committee to form or for a poll to be taken (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Horton did not hesitate, he gently caught the dust speck in his trunk and set out to find a safe place for that dust speck to be.

And so Horton continues to teach me spiritual truths. Horton teaches, not forcefully, not sermonizing, but by his gentle, compassionate example that it is not enough to listen, we must see. We must see what is right before us. We must see what is tiny and what the world thinks of insignificance because there is life and beauty and sacredness in all of this, even on a dust speck.

And seeing and hearing we must trust that what we are seeing and hearing is true.

And we must see and know when life is at peril of harm. And sometimes that life is too delicate, too fragile to save by some energetic, vigorous intervention. Sometimes the gentle touch is what is needed, especially with children and animals and the wounded and the hurting and dust specks. And Horton doesn’t then sit down and say look at me, I saved the dust speck, I, and I alone heard the tiny voice, and saw the dust speck and at great personal risk grabbed that tiny voice from certain destruction. No, the path that Horton teaches me is quiet, as well as being true and honest and compassionate.

And so I have learned that

If I learn how to listen

And I learn how to see
Tiny little lives will become obvious to me
And tiny lives must not drown
For the ignorance or apathy of us all.
Because a person’s a person no matter how small.

This is where all of Horton’s problems start. The world is not ready for people living on dust specks and much less for people to hear people who live on dust specks and even much less for people who talk to people who live on dust specks and they’re really, really not ready for people who act to protect people on dust specks. The world, even the Horton’s world, can’t hear and can’t see anything of significance in that dust speck and are not willing or able to take Horton’s word for it. Horton faces organized opposition and resistance, even violent opposition.

“Humpf!” humpfed a voice. ‘Twas a sour kangaroo.

And the young kangaroo in her pouch said, “Humpf!” too.
“What, that speck is as small as the head of a pin.
A person on that? … Why, there never has been!”

The Wickersam Brothers came shouting, "What rot!

This elephant's talking to Whos who are not!
There aren’t any Whos! And they don’t have a Mayor!
And we’re going to stop all this nonsense! So there!”

Horton alone stood firm in protecting the Whos. Ultimately the Whos were saved from certain death by being boiled in Beezel Nut Oil by Horton’s intervention.

It was more than just his intervention; however, it was also his faithfulness. Horton would not be swayed from what he knew to be true. Having heard the Whos Horton was compelled to act. What a great illustration of a spiritual life. Having heart the suffering of others are we, can we also be compelled to act.

Granted, we are surrounded by a cacophony of sounds and sights of the oppressed, marginalized, downtrodden, and forgotten or ignored. It would be easy to become overwhelmed by the magnitude of the problems with which we can be confronted.

So it is fortunate that we don’t have to be perfect. Horton illustrates for me that we don’t strive for perfect, just consistency. Horton is not perfect, but he is consistent and predictable. Horton acts on behalf of the Whos and in so doing leaves us an example of a life engaged in the vital business of being compassionate.

So, please, learn to listen. Learn to listen with your ears and your eyes and your heart and your soul. Listen to everything all around you, and when you hear that small voice calling for help; when the universe leads you into some place you’ve never been before where the oppressed live, then what will you do?

The Gift of Story

An African Folk Tale

retold by Rocci Hildum

We are people of the story. We love to tell our stories. We have told our stories for a long, long time. We tell stories to remember important things and important people. The old ones tell stories to the young ones to teach them how to behave and to explain why some things are the way they are. Sometimes we tell stories just for fun.

But if you can believe it there was a time when there were no stories at all. In all of the places and times and people there were no stories to be told and no stories to be heard. This is an African story about that time.

Now, at that time there were no stories to be told and no stories to be heard. In all the places and times and people there were no stories to be told and no stories to be heard. The people could not remember important things and important people. The old ones had no stories to teach the young ones how to behave or explain why some things are the way they are. There were no stories to tell just for fun.

There were no stories to be told and no stories to be heard because Nyame, the Great Sky God, owned all the stories. Nyame kept his stories in a golden box that he kept locked, and he kept the box right beside his throne. Nyame would not share his stories with anyone, he kept them to himself and so that in all the places and in all the times and in all the people there were no stories to be told and no stories to be heard.

Now, Ananzi, the old man who is known as the Spider man because he is magic and can change into a spider, decided that he should like to purchase Nyame’s stories. Ananzi spun a great web up to the sky, from the middle of his village to Nyame’s throne. Ananzi climbed all the way up the web until he was standing before Nyame’s throne and bowing down before the Great Sky God, Ananzi said to Nyame, “O Great Sky God Nyame, I have come before you to tell you that I should like to purchase your stories.”

Nyame, that Great Sky God, looked down at the old and little Ananzi for a second and then threw back his head and laughed and laughed. “Ananzi, you are so small, so small, so small. How is it that you shall be able to purchase my precious stories.”

Ananzi looked up at Nyame and asked, “What is the price that you ask for your stories?”

Nyame thought to himself for a moment and then said, “You will need to bring me Osebo, the Leopard of terrible tooth.”

Ananzi nodded his head and Nyame thought to himself, “He agrees too easily, this is too small a price for my precious stories.”

Nyame thought for a moment and said, “And you shall need to bring to me, Mmboro, the hornet whose sting is like fire.”

Ananzi nodded his head and Nyame thought to himself, “He agrees too easily. This Ananzi is clever; even this is too small a price for my precious stories.”

Nyame thought for a moment and said, “And you shall need to bring to me Mmoatia, the fairy that men never see.”

Ananzi nodded his head and said, “The price that you ask is fair. I shall bring you the price you ask for your stories.”

Nyame threw back his head with a great booming laugh. “Ananzi, you are so small, so small, so small. How is it that you shall pay this price that I ask?” But Ananzi didn’t say anything. Ananzi just climbed back down his web to the middle of his village.

The first thing that Ananzi did was to go in search of Osebo, the leopard of terrible tooth. Ananzi ran along the jungle paths until he found Osebo, lying in the sun in the middle of the path. Osebo saw Ananzi and said, “Ananzi, my friend Ananzi. You are just in time for lunch. You are just in time to be my lunch.”

Ananzi smiled at Osebo and said, “We shall see what we shall see, but first let us play a game.” For Ananzi knew that Osebo loved to play games.

Osebo said, “What game shall we play.”

Ananzi thought for a moment and said, “We shall play the binding binding game.”

Osebo said, “And how do you play this game.”

Ananzi explained, “I shall take the creeping vine and I shall bind you by your foot and by your foot and by your foot, and when you are all bound I will untie you and it will be your turn to bind me.”

Osebo smiled a great smile and said, “Yes, let us play the binding binding game.” For Osebo was thinking to himself that when it was his turn he would eat Ananzi.

Ananzi took the creeping vine and he bound Osebo by his foot and by his foot and by his foot and by his foot. And when Osebo was all bound tightly so that he could not move, Ananzi stepped back and looked at him and said, “Now, Osebo, you are ready to go and meet the Great Sky God Nyame.” And Ananzi hung Osebo, the leopard of terrible tooth, from a banana tree.

Next Ananzi went in search of Mmboro, the hornet whose sting is like fire. First Ananzi got a calabash gourd, which is a hollow gourd used to carry water. Ananzi filled the calabash gourd with water and Ananzi took a great, large leaf from the banana tree. Ananzi took the calabash gourd and the banana leaf and went to find the nest of Mmboro, the hornet whose sting is like fire. Ananzi stood by the nest of Mmboro and held the banana leaf over his head and poured water from the calabash gourd onto the leaf. Then Ananzi poured out the rest of the water over the nest of Mmboro. Ananzi cried out, “Mmboro, Mmboro, it is raining, it is raining. Shouldn’t you fly into my calabash gourd so that your delicate wings will not be tattered?”

Mmboro cried out, “Thank you, thank you Ananzi, for saving my delicate wings,” and flew into the calabash gourd. When Mmboro had flown into the calabash gourd, FOOM! Ananzi put a stopper on the gourd. Ananzi held up the gourd and admired it and said, “Now, Mmboro, you are ready to go and meet the Great Sky God Nyame.” Ananzi hung the calabash gourd in the banana tree next to Osebo the leopard of terrible tooth.

Lastly, Ananzi went to find Mmoatia, the fairy that men never see. Now, Ananzi knew some things about Mmoatia. Ananzi knew that Mmoatia loves to dance before a particular tree in a particular spot in the jungle. Ananzi knew that more than anything else Mmoatia loves the sweet yams. And Ananzi knew that Mmoatia is very very proud.

Ananzi went to that particular tree in that particular spot. Ananzi carved a little wooden doll holding a bowl and filled the bowl with the sweet yams, the best sweet yams anyone had ever tasted. And Ananzi covered the entire doll with sticky gum from the Gum tree. Ananzi tied a creeping vine around the neck of the doll and hid in the bushes and waited.

By and by, Mmoatia came dancing down the path to the tree and saw the gum baby. Mmoatia loves the sweet yam and asked the gum baby, “May I taste some of your sweet yams?”

Ananzi, hiding in the bushes, pulled, just so lightly on the creeping vine, so that the Gum Baby nodded her head.

Mmoatia took the bowl from the gum baby and tasted the sweet yams. “Oh, these sweet yams are so good. May I eat the rest of the sweet yams?”

Ananzi pulled on the creeping vine, just so lightly, and the Gum Baby nodded her head.

Mmoatia ate the rest of the sweet yams and gently placed the bowl back in the hands of Gum Baby. “Oh, your sweet yams were very, very good. Thank you for sharing your sweet yams with me.”

And Gum Baby was silent.

Mmoatia is very proud and was offended that Gum Baby was silent. “Do you not answer me when I thank you?”

And Gum Baby was silent.

Mmoatia was getting angry and demanded, “If you do not respond to me when I thank you, I shall slap your crying place!”

And Gum Baby was silent.

And Mmoatia was angry and slapped Gum Baby’s cheek and Mmoatia’s hand stuck fast to Gum Baby’s cheek. Mmoatia was very angry, “Let me go or I shall slap you again!”

And Gum Baby was silent.

And Mmoatia was very angry now and slapped Gum Baby’s other cheek. And Mmoatia’s other hand stuck fast to Gum Baby’s cheek.

Now Mmoatia was furious. And Mmoatia pushed with her foot and with her other foot and in a short while Mmoatia was stuck by her hand and her hand and her foot and her foot and Mmoatia could not move.

Then, Ananzi came out of the bushes and said to Mmoatia, ““Now, Mmoatia, you are ready to go and meet the Great Sky God Nyame.” Ananzi went to the banana tree and took Osebo, the leopard of terrible tooth and the calabash gourd with Mmboro and the Gum Baby with Mmoatia and spun a great web from the center of his village up to the sky, to the throne of Nyame, the Great Sky God.

Ananzi he laid his treasures before Nyame and stepped back, “Oh Great Nyame, I have brought you the price you ask for your stories.”

Nyame stared at what was laid before him and was astonished. Nyame called everyone in his court, “Come and see the great thing that Ananzi has done. Ananzi has paid the price that I have asked for my stories; and they shall be his stories. From now on these stories shall be known as Ananzi stories.”

Nyame took the great golden box with all of the stories and handed it to Ananzi. Ananzi climbed back down his web to the center of his village. Ananzi set the golden box down in the center of the village. With his hands on either side of the box, Ananzi gently, just so gently, lifted the lid of the golden box. And stories flew out of the box; the most wonderful stories.

Stories to help people remember important things and important people. Stories for the old ones to teach the young how to behave and to explain why some things are the way they are. Stories to tell just for fun. Happy stories and sad stories and funny stories. All kinds of wonderful stories flew out of the golden box. They flew to all the places and all the times and all the people.

So that in all of the places and in all of the times and in all of the people there were stories to be told and stories to be heard. Even today in every place and time and person; even now in this place and time and in all these people there are stories to be told and stories to be heard.

And this is the story of the gift of story.

SOURCE: A Story A Story An African Tale retold and illustrated by Gail E. Haley, Atheneum, 1970 ISBN 0—689-70423-2

Take a Breath

An Original Inspirational Message

Rocci Hildum

I was raised Roman Catholic … and left the Roman Catholic faith when I left home. I have experimented with various other Christian denominations and non-Christian spiritual paths and disciplines, until I found a home in the Unitarian Universalist tradition and Buddhism. I learned that Unitarian Universalism isn’t an either or religion; it’s an and religion. When I was Roman Catholic my choices were limited to being Roman Catholic or being something else. As a Unitarian Universalist Buddhist my choices are to be Unitarian Universalist and Buddhist and Native American shamanistic and Taoist …That works for me and it feels like home.

I just thought you should know a little about my personal spiritual journey because I think it is important. What is most important isn’t where I’ve started or where I’ve found myself today, but that I am a committed seeker; willing and able to ask questions that may have difficult answers or may have no clear answers at all. That is the kind of searching that I believe cultivates a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.

More than anything else, I think that people who are on a spiritual journey are seeking inspiration. We live in a time where true inspiration seems to be a very limited commodity. There is a lot of trivial inspiration on the television and in books, but precious little authentic inspiration. To the point that I believe many people don’t even remember or know what constitutes true inspiration anymore. People want a spiritual life but don’t know where to go, what to do, and how to recognize it if they accidentally stumble into it.

The root of the Spirit can be found in the Greek word that is translated both as wind and breath. The Eastern concept of chi is also translated as wind, breath, or power. This seems like a good place to start.

But you know I recognize this word inspiration from my previous life. Before I was a social worker I was an athletic trainer. In fact, my formal education is in the health arena. I once taught biology and anatomy at the college level. I wasn’t a very good teacher, but I was a good student and I remember about inspiration.

Inspiration is also the word that means taking a breath. That vital act of transferring oxygen from the ambient atmosphere into our lungs and ultimately into our blood stream is an act essential to all animal life. Breathing is the very essence and evidence of life.

That concept of taking a breath really does not accurately describe the process by which oxygen enters our lungs. Taking a breath makes it sound like it is a much more active process than it really is. In truth, we don’t take a breath as much as we receive a breath. Allow me to explain.

In your chest there are two large sacks for collecting and transferring gasses – the lungs. Attached to the bottom of the lungs is a large muscle, the diaphragm. When the diaphragm contracts it pulls the lungs downward; lengthening them; and creating a negative space. Ambient air enters the nose and/or mouth and fills that negative space.

That air travels to little small sacks in the lungs that have a permeable membrane. Those sacks exchange gasses with blood flowing around them by the simple process of osmosis; gasses move from an area of higher concentration to an area of lower concentration. Oxygen, rich in the air in the lungs transfers to the blood vessels and carbon dioxide, rich in the blood vessels, transfers to the little sacks to be expelled. When the diaphragm relaxes the lungs contract creating a positive space and the oxygen depleted air is expelled. It is elegantly simple and beautiful, and we do it hundreds and hundreds of times a day, usually without giving it any thought whatsoever. It is a miracle of life.

I like the idea of creating negative space; space that cries to be filled with something of substance. And it happens naturally because we create the space to allow it to happen. It is, I believe, the same for our spiritual lives. We become spiritual, or more accurately, we recognize our spirituality; we are filled with Spirit because we create the space for the Spirit to fill us. It is not so much about what we do as it is about making sure there is a space in our lives to be filled. And this is what I think inspiration really is.

Imagine a balloon. You can fill that balloon with air and as it fills you can see it expanding; changing; becoming bigger and different. Sometimes you require assistance to get your balloon filled. You might turn to a neighbor and ask for help. That is perfectly appropriate. We all need help sometimes, why not with one of the most vital and important aspects of a meaningful life?

And once you have that balloon all filled up you can tie a knot in the end and capture that inspiration. It becomes all yours. You can do with it what you like. Your big, round, shiny balloon advertises to everyone all around you that you have been inspired. We can make our inspiration our gift to each other, our family and friends, our community, the universe.

And yet, this isn’t quite right either. This way we all have our individual packets of inspiration trapped; isolated. They are pretty to look at, but that inspiration is separated from us by a non-permeable membrane. Nothing gets out; nothing gets in. There is no way for our inspiration to touch or nurture our family and friends, our community, or the universe. No, no, this is just all wrong; but it is what happens a lot of time. We are so wrapped up in our own search for inspiration, we work so hard to get it and then we want to keep it to ourselves. Capturing our inspiration required so much effort that we don’t want to let it go.

If we could just manage to release that inspiration into the world imagine what might happen. How magnificent that might be to see all that inspiration co-mingling, to use Thich Nhat Han’s phrase, inter-being with all of us.

And so we can imagine that we want to release that inspiration back out into the ambient air, our environment. We could try to untie that knot, but you know how difficult that can be. There is an easier way. We could pop our balloons. It is noisy; it’s messy; and sometimes we need some help with this part of the process too. But that’s the way that a spiritual life goes; sometimes it’s challenging; sometimes it makes a lot of noise and a big mess; and sometimes we need some help.

But once we’ve popped our balloons and released our inspiration into the world invariably it makes us smile and laugh. Perhaps we laugh at the noise or mess. Perhaps we laugh because it reminds us of our childhoods. Perhaps we laugh because it’s fun. But we all know that it feels good.

And that, I submit, is a very good metaphor for a spiritual life. We are spiritual beings living a physical existence and all we have to do to recognize and celebrate and share that spirituality is to make enough space; take a breath. Take a breath; breathe deeply and often; and be inspired. Miracles can happen.

The Cricket

an original retelling of a folk story

By Rocci Hildum

Here is an absolutely true story about two friends of mine.

Antonio and Rudolpho were good friends. They were good friends but they had not seen each other for a long time. Antonio lived in the big city of Seattle where it is very busy and noisy and there is always something happening. Rudolpho lived in the country where it is quiet and slow. One day, Ruolpho decided that he would like to visit his friend Antonio. Rudolpho made the trip over the mountains to Seattle and when Rudolpho knocked on Antonio's door Antonio was so glad to see him. Antonio wanted to show Rudolpho all the wonderful things in Seattle.

Where do you think Antonio took Rudolpho? Antonio took Rudolpho to see the Space Needle, and Rudolpho had never seen anything like that. From the top the people on the ground looked like ants and Rudolpho could see the mountains and the ocean. Antonio took Rudolpho to see the Pacific Science Center, and Rudolpho had never seen anything like that before. Antonio took Rudolpho to the Aquarium, and concerts, and ball games and Rudolpho was amazed, he had never seen things like this before.

Then one day Antonio took Rudolpho to one of his favorite spots, The Pike Street Market. Have any of you ever been to the Pike Street Market? The Pike Street Market is a very busy place. There are people playing music and people reading poetry and people buying things and selling things and kids running around and these people throw fish around. It is a very busy and noisy place.

Rudolpho was fascinated. He had never seen anything like this before. All of a sudden Rudolpho stopped. "Listen."

Antonio looked, "Listen to what? How can you hear anything in here is is so noisy. There's children running around and music and poetry and people throwing fish, how can you hear anything?"

Rudolpho said, "You have to listen!"

Rudolpho listened for a moment, cocked his head to one side, and then said, "A cricket."

Antonio was astonished. "That is not possible. There is so much noise in here, there's music and poetry and kids running around people buying and selling things and people throwing fish, how could you possibly hear a cricket? Besides, I've never even seen a cricket in Seattle!"

Rudolpho listened and then he bent down towards a planter and picked up a little cricket. "See, a cricket." Then Rudolpho put the cricket back.

Antonio said. "That's amazing, how did you do that? Teach me how you did that, I want to trick my friends too!"

"There's no trick."

"There's got to be some kind of trick!"

"No, no trick, watch," Rudolpho took three brown pennies from his pocket and in the middle of the Pike Place Market with people buying and selling things and music and poetry and kids running around and people throwing fish, Rudolpho dropped those three brown pennies on the ground, PLINK, PLINK, PLINK.

The music and poetry stopped. People stopped buying and selling things. Kids stopped running. And people stopped throwing fish. Everyone was looking at Rudolpho,  Antonio and those three brown pennies.

"See," Rudolpho said, "You just have to know what to listen for."

So, that's what I want to tell you. Decide what you will listen for. Choose the things that are important and then listen. Make listening your best thing. This world needs people who know how to listen. Listen with your ears and your heart and your soul. Listen to all the music and poetry and stories all around you. But especially, listen to all the music and poetry and stories that come from inside of you, because they will be especially true.

Source: Spinning Tales, Weaving Hope, Stories of Peace, Justice and the Environment, Ed. Ed Brody, Jay Goldspinner, Katie Green, Rona Leventhal and John Porcino of Stories for World Change Network, Philadelphia, New Society Publishers, 1992, pg. 201.

All My Stories Are Absolutely True

I am a professional storyteller, workshop facilitator, and inspirational speaker. When people find out that I am a professional storyteller they ask, "Rocci, as a professional storyteller, what kinds of stories do you tell?"

I say, "Yes, I am a professional storyteller. I tell all kinds of stories: folk stories, legends, myths, fables. I tell stories from different lands and times and people. I tell some stories from my Italian family. Some of the stories I tell I just make up. But the thing that is the same about all the stories I tell is that they are absolutely true."

And you know, we must be living in a skeptical and cynical age because sometimes people just don't believe that my stories are all absolutely true. But I can prove it.

If I tell you a story; even if the things in the story didn't happen exactly that way, it will tell you something true about me.

And if I tell you a story from a different land or time or people; and if you listen; even if the things in the story didn't happen exactly that way, it will tell you something true about that land or time or people.

And if I tell you a story; and if you listen; if you listen with your ears and your heart and your soul; even if the things in the story didn't exactly happen that way; it will tell you something true about yourself.

So this is what I want to tell you - listen. Become a great listener. Make listening one of your best things. This world really needs people who know how to listen. Listen to all the stories and music and poetry all around you. But especially listen to the stories and music and poetry that come from inside of you, because they will always be absolutely true!