The is the third, and last, part of my application “essay” to seminary. Part 1 here. Part 2 here.
The girl heard more of the Story than ever she had before, out of the Way among the native tribes. Around every ceremonial fire, on every feast day, in every high place and low place, she heard the Voice in the native tribes’ stories. It sang of universes and souls held together by silken threads, often broken but never beyond repair. It sang of evil so potent it could slay good and of good so pure it could rise from the dead. It sang of the world reborn after a hard labor and of love remade by a relentless few who would not give up. It sang of death and of life and of meaning. It sang and sang and would not stop singing.
As she delved ever deeper into the arts of storytelling, the girl discovered the Old Ones’ songs. These sounded alien and unsettling because she had not learnt the scales and rhythms. But the strange din resonated in her heart in a way her mind could not deny. And so she began to learn the Old Ones’ ways.
If the girl hoped to avoid the Way and forge her own, coming to know the Old Ones and their songs was not wise. For as she grew to love them, even as the Voice sang to her in the native tribes’ stories told around ceremonial fires and on feast days and in high places and low places, the Story unfurled before her eyes like a goldspun tapestry, ransomed from the rubbish heap of ancient times. She understood, breathless and spellbound before the tableau, that the Story was not told to help Storytellers live in the Way; the Way was made to help Storytellers live in the Story.
It was the beginning of a beginning. From that moment, the girl longed for nothing but to become a Singer.
Next week, the non-scare-quote essay.
Filed under: church, theology, writing Tagged: | allegory, seminary, storytelling
