the story teller

In the beginning there was the Storyteller and the Storyteller was with the Author and the Storyteller was the Author in the beginning. Nothing came into being unless the Storyteller made it so and in every character lay traces of the Author’s essence because all things came from him in the beginning. The Author was the only one who knew the beginning from the end and without him there was no story as the story belonged to him. So from his heart came characters of every colour and variety. The Storyteller gave life to each one and, as was his way, he set them free to become who they were to be.

But one day another voice spoke and said to the characters, ‘You do not have to be a part of this story. The Author has given you freedom, why do you not create your own stories? You can be storytellers. The Author only wants you here so that he can have his way with your ending. You were created for more than this.’ The words of the voice were persuasive and so, one by one, the characters left the story for which they had been created and started new stories of their own. After time, the characters forgot the Author and the Storyteller and knew only themselves and each other. They knew not the beginning from the end.

Soon the characters felt lost for they had no hand to guide them and no voice to direct their steps. In their foolishness the characters did not realise that they had come from the Author and without the Author they could not live. So the characters looked to each other, following the path of any new storyline that looked better than the last. Their paths became twisted and no one cared about the end or the beginning. When a character could no longer live from his own imaginings, his life would run out and his story die with him. There was no character who could live beyond his own story.

The Author felt a deep ache in his heart, for he knew that his characters were good and he had desired a beautiful destiny for them all. And so he sent the Storyteller into the land of short stories where the characters dwelt. The Storyteller spoke with the Author’s wisdom and loved with the Author’s heart for he had been with the Author from the beginning. In him was the life of the Story Without End and the Story Without End would give life to its characters. But the characters did not understand his Story and did not want to give up their own and so, they conspired to put an end to the Storyteller.

‘If the Storyteller dies’, the characters said amongst themselves ‘we will never again have to hear of the Author and his plans. We will be free!’ Their minds were set and their pathways woven. They spoke out together ‘The Storyteller must die’ and with that, to their surprise, he did. Suddenly their sky turned black and the characters were afraid, ‘What fools!’ cried one voice. ‘Now the Storyteller is dead how can we live? For did we not always know that it is because of him that the Book is kept open?’

The Storyteller, however, did not die as other short stories had died before him. No, for in him was the life of the Story Without End and the Story Without End gives life to its characters.

In the land of short stories the Storyteller had told the perfect one, for he had spoken a chapter from the Authors heart. Now he would go back to the Author and take many with him to the land of the Story Without End. For some of the characters had heard his words and wished to return. They asked the Storyteller ‘How can we come back to the Story Without End when our paths are twisted before us? We will die out here on our own but if we return we will ruin the work of the Author.’ With a tender smile the Storyteller replied, ‘My dear characters, you are the work of the Author and you have come from the Authors heart. Now lay down your own stories and follow my path. For my path is not twisted neither is my way crooked and if you walk in it you will surely know the Author and the Author will give you life.’