Stories

Each is the protagonist of their own story. The centre of the universe amongst other centres and other leading roles. All just as important as the next. One story alone, that differs in its facts and chronology. One story that is tailored for and by its protagonist. So many versions of the same exposition, depending solely on the position of the protagonist.

How quick we are to justify our own story yet vilify others that share our narrative, who are guilty of none other than the same mistakes we ourselves have made. We are primary in our story, secondary if non-existent in the stories of others. Yet the story is just one.

Yes, it differs in its details…but the archetype, the template is always the same. Our version of THE story is subject to the same criticism that we project upon the stories of others. Not all versions align, not all versions are compatible. Some stories may even be completely manufactured by the protagonist- yet it is truer than truth for that particular story’s leading character.

Each of us has our own soliloquy with which we purchase and exchange sympathy and empathy. We more readily accept the narrative of another, if it aligns with the script to which we ourselves are bound. We accept some stories as truth and others as fabrication based on the timeline of our own creation of a story in which we are Kings.

What makes our story so important, so valuable, to the extent that we establish a hierarchal gradation of the stories we accept? Is it the spotlight which we occupy? Is our script better than that of a leading character of another story? Is it the setting, the music? The backdrop? The intermission? Is our story more valuable? More truthful? Simply because it is our own? Is our story not subject to the same limitations as the stories of others? The very limitations we impose?

Did we even write our own script or are we simply clutching onto the strings of a puppet master who controls us, pretending to have willed our own actions? Is our soliloquy a true outcry and outpour of the soul or are we just a mere mouthpiece of social expectation, tradition, norm and systemic confine? Perhaps it is the puppet master’s story to have so many conflicting stories- to have protagonists fight battles that they adopted as their own yet their two perceived differences are controlled by the hands of one.

Are we the authors, writers and the directors of our own story? Who are we to attempt to seize control over the story of another? While we may be the fortuitous heroes of our own stories, the timeline which we occupy may render us villains in the stories of others. Is it the label that we place on ourselves more important that the label others place on us in each respective story?

How tangled and intertwined all our stories truly are. Each story is so straightforward and chronological in its cause and effect to the isolated protagonist, yet so fragmented and lost in the web of cross-sections which it shares with the stories of others. Our story does not exist in a vacuum. It does not exist in insolation to the stories of all those around us. Our story depends on our involvement of the protagonists of other stories, just as their stories depend on the involvement of the characters we play.

Are we prepared to abandon our own story to play a role in the story of someone else? Do we expect others to do this for us? Is it okay to mimic the protagonist of another story? Can we change characters if we do not like our given role?

So many stories, so many chronicles imbedded into the fabric of time and space. So many overlaps, so many similarities. So many centres, so many forces and so many systems writing stories to prevent the tale of truth.

This story too, a story of stories, falling just short of the true story to which it pertains.

© 2017 Crossing Faith

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