The Woods Are Lovely...

As Robert Frost wrote in Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening: 

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.  

I awoke this morning to my backyard filled with snow.  Its white drifts wrapped around the Rumi tree and danced across my patio silencing the sounds of the day.  A hush has settled over my world as I watch the day come alive.  Frost's poem draws me back to a slower moment in time, but even as he says this he too is drawn back into his world, "These woods are lovely dark and deep but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep".

As our days begin to grow longer winter grows stronger, and it is a time to draw near hearth and home and tell the stories of who we are; to share our thoughts and ideas, and to lend our strength and support to each other.

As a very young child some cold winter's eves were spent in the back of my great aunt and uncle's general store; sitting around a pot bellied stove and listening to the elders tell stories of their lives.  This was a small town supported by a farming community and this store was a hub for folks to gather and talk on dark, cold nights.

I loved the stories, tales, and wisdom these elders shared on those cold winter's nights in the back of that little store.  Stories are important to how we come to know ourselves through the culture that we are a part of.  A story needs a teller and a listener, and as long as a story is told and retold it lives on.  Stories told from that little store still live in my mind and through this the teller remains alive because I remember.

A story holds the energy of its being told, of the person who first told it, and of those who hear, remember, and perhaps retell this to others.  It is a living thing, and each of us who are touched through hearing a story become the guardians to future generations memories.  To pass stories along, as well as to collect and recall stories of our own, is how we pass along traditions, thoughts, ideas, and beliefs to others.  It is an important part of our lives.

Like the legend of LaLoba, the keeper of all things in danger of becoming extinct,  we as the collector and keeper of life's stories, legends, and myths  become the story collectors, keepers and tellers of the future.  Times have changed; looking back on my great aunt and uncle's general store is a great memory, and recalling LaLoba is an empowering myth, but our stories of now and of ourselves are just as important as are these past stories.

This store no longer stands in the little town that it was a part of, but the stories, tales, legends, and memories of this place and time still exist in my  defining of me.  Our stories become a part of the legends and myths that we create to pass on as remembrance of our lives. 

Sitting next to a fire as a winter's night embraces us we can think, and dream, and think of what stories we will remember, recall, and share with each other.  Stories let us see ourselves and each other as who we are, and let us develop a  relationship with the unseen and with things that are only partially known and half remembered. Our stories create magic in our lives.

So as Robert Frost's woods are lovely so also are the many stories that we each experience and pass on through our lives and by our telling of them. To recall and tell our stories we remember and honor our lives and give these memories to those who come after us.