“Facts, ugh I hate facts!” I heard the little wizard in the other room as I was making my morning cup of tea. What was he ranting about? When I went into the kitchen, he was perched on my teapot, shaking his fist at an invisible crowd, like a preacher on Sunday morning.
“Facts are deadening devices that make juicy ideas wither on the vine like lifeless raisins,” he shouted! “Stories on the other hand, are the poetry of the Gods, pearls of cosmic wisdom, an imaginative thread woven by dreamers and visionaries. Stories have wings and can fly, whereas facts are solid, unyielding lumps gathering dust.”
I could tell he didn’t want me to say anything. He was on a rant, or as he liked to say, he was telling me an important story about stories!
“The persnickety thing about facts,” he continued, “is that they parade as solid, substantial and real things when they’re not! Facts, like stories are made up, we just don’t like to admit that’s true but it is. Whereas stories are the way that worlds come into being. Think about that.”
I was thinking about it but I let him go on. He seemed to need to get this extensive rant out of his system!
“Facts are tricky. They are either true or untrue, believed or disbelieved. You either need to prove or disapprove, agree or disagree. All of which are from the unhappy world of human invention.
Stories are free birds that retain their wild nature. They can move, shift, shape and reshape with the changing currents of life. They don’t pretend to be solid, immutable, or everlasting substance and yet they are. Their effect, the by-product of their effervescent nature, lingers on forever.
Facts make us shrink, feel small, or want to run for cover. In my not so humble opinion, facts are the domain of factually-fallacious scientists who spend way too much time hunched over their work tables with knitted brows, wondering how to prove things that aren’t provable! I mean how exactly do we prove for example that there really was a Big Bang? Were you there?!! (Don’t get me started on this rant!)”
He was really worked up now!
“At any rate, I’d like to protect my sensibili-teas by letting you know that everything I put forth from here forward will be one giant STORY, no facts. The whole point of my whole rant here is simply to say that there are – NO CRITIQUES ALLOWED!!”
Why hadn’t he said that in the beginning? Obviously we were hitting a sensitive point with the wizard.
“I’m not sensitive!!” (sniff, sniff)”, he said. He had his hanky out now and was daintily wiping the corners of his eyes. “It’s just that those factual types have always been beating me down. Knit-picking everything I said with their overly-linear lens, always trying to prove or disprove everything I said. Personally find that very trying, especially when they are putting their muddy hands into my esteemed and erudite works. I will not have it! I simply will not.”
He was standing atop my teapot now. “All critiques, or any such facsimile will go directly to the great recycling bin. They will not pass my ears nor my heart, and thus I will preserve both my sani-tea and sensilibili-tea together. Is that clear?”
I wasn’t exactly sure who he was making this clear to but I nodded assent. Sometimes you just need someone to listen to what really matters to you.
“Therefore to be perfectly clear, what are to follow are stories, not facts. It took me eons to craft these stories and tons of courage to present them to you, so please be kind.”
“Yes really, it took a lot of angst to reveal myself so personally like this, which is something those fact-laden folks never do!”
So my friends, if you’ve been following here, then maybe you to realize we’re all very tender at heart. Listen deeply to the stories that come. No critiques please, or I think our dear little wizard might fall apart, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?!