As a teacher of storytelling, I know that there are a lot of people who are interested, but not really invested, in the study of the art that I love so much. When I discover the passion for storytelling inside a student that matches my own, I find that experience exhilarating and thrilling. My students have described the experience as akin to going over a waterfall or turning on a water fountain.

I like to call this discovery riding the tiger. Sometimes in the jungle of life, we feel lost and closed in by all the daily activities of life. We are lost in a sea of sound and shadow. We know that, somewhere in the underbrush, there are tigers ready to pounce on us and eat us. We are grasping for something to support us, to shelter us.  Suddenly, without any warning, our hand grasps hold of the tiger’s tail. (more…)

The old circus clown walked up to Max.  The clown’s red nose matched the color of his neck.  Beads of sweat dripped off his pale white wrinkled forehead and eyebrows.  Max knew he shouldn’t smile, but the clowns’ checkerboard pants had a rip in them.   Max tried to turn away.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?”  Max just stared. ”I am talking to you, mister.”  The clown’s gloved finger pushed into Max’s chest.  Max just kept thinking – I am going to be decked by a clown.

“What the hell were you doing out there?”

“I was cleaning up after the elephants.”

“Yes, you were.  Damn right you were.   You were cleaning up after the elephants.  You did a fine job with that too.  How much shit did you shovel anyway?”

“One shovel full.”

“One shovel full of shit and you still think your job was to shovel shit.  You were in the ring for a total of five minutes mister.  Five long intense minutes.  You didn’t take nothing from the show – I will give you that.  But did you add to it?  Did you demonstrate the gift?  Hmmm, no, I think not.”

Max looked confused.  “I thought my job was to pick up elephant shit.”

“Shit!  No, your job is to be in the circus.  Your job is to pay attention to the needs of your audience.  Picking your noise in front of 1200 people is not in your job description!”

Max frowned.  “I am not a performer.”

“Wisdom from the mouths of babes.  I give him diamonds and he gives me coal.” 

“Of course you are not a professional performer, but once you walk on the stage, you become important – you’re part of the show.  Part of the greatest show on earth.  Not like the show stops – not like the show ever really stops.   But at least you know you’re on stage.  At least you know this is your time to shine.”

“Cleaning up after the elephants?”

“Don’t look at me like that, son.  Look, kid, you got to understand that this audience – well, all audiences, give us a great gift as performers.  I mean besides the money.  They come here with their problems and their troubles and they put them all away for a while.  So that we can lift them up.  They don’t want to be reminded of the world back home.  They don’t want to be reminded that we on stage might be as imperfect as they are.  But then we do – well, I do – I bring back to them how human they are, how imperfect they are, and they laugh.  They laugh at themselves and at the world.”

The clown begun to slowly take off his white gloves.

“They laugh at us because they trust us.  They laugh at us because we become them – we are both better and worse than our audience.  We become their mother, their father, and their children, for God’s sake.  While the show is on, we become the world to them.  Somewhere in that audience… somewhere out there in the darkness of the seats is that one good listener who really cares…  Who is totally invested in that guy carrying the broom behind the elephants.  You have to be ready to hold them – you have to be ready to care for them.  Because without them there is no show.  Without them we are nothing.  They are the yeast that makes the bread rise.  They are the reason we all go out there day after day, night after night.”

The old man grasped Max’s chin and looked him in the eye.  Max noticed  how clear and blue those eyes were.

“The one thing we don’t want is some punk ass kid getting between us and the audience.  Promise me that, son.  Promise me you will stay awake in the ring.”

“No problem.”

“All right then – just don’t let me catch you goofing off like that again.”  The clown grabbed Max’s elbow.  “Let’s go see about getting a bite to eat.   No need for such a bright boy like you to wasting away in animal maintenance.   What’s your name anyway?”

This version of this story is copyrighted by Brother Wolf Storytelling. You are welcome to use it and the accompanying optional photo on your website or magazine with this text and link included. Brought to you by the International School of Storytelling – http://www.thestorytellingschool.com/

My old friend, Jay Lieskie, told me this story.

Sometimes in nonprofits you get a certain group of well meaning people who have time and money but little self discipline. They mean well, but their lack of consistency and unwillingness to be mentored by or apprenticed to an old hand can be damaging to the long-term goals of a nonprofit. Sometimes these well meaning souls would wander into the door of Jay’s nonprofit.

Jay would just smile at their outlandish plans and crazy ideas. Then he would look them up and down and say, “Are you sure you know what you are getting into? I have the the feeling you are not really committed to helping us out.”

The well meaning volunteer would explain again their outlandish impossible idea again clearly demonstrating their complete lack of experience or knowledge of the actual cause. “Well, sounds to me like you are just a little involved – but not really (more…)

A Myth on Seeing with New Eyes…

Once there was an old stone carver who had an apprentice. Every day the apprentice asked the teacher if he could pick up the tools of the trade and start to work with stone. “Not yet,” his teacher would say, “First you must learn to see what is – keep sweeping.”

Every day after the chores were completed, the old master would send the apprentice out to look at the world while the stone master worked on his statues.

At the end of the day, he would ask his apprentice what he had seen.

“I saw a hawk flying, I counted a spider’s legs and I saw an old woman on the road,” said the apprentice.

“Hmmm,” said the old teacher.

“Am I ready to work with the stone tools yet?”

“No – keep sweeping.”

Everyday the response was the same after the apprentice returned from his wanderings. After months of conversations like this, the apprentice grew impatient.

“Master, I have traveled the land and brought back news from all along the valley. I have told you of the hawks nesting on the mountains and the fish in the lake below. What more do you want?”

The old master carver just smiled at his apprentice. “If you do not see what is right in front of your face, I cannot allow you to use these tools. First you must show me that you see what is.”

The apprentice placed his head in his hands. “What is… what is… I have told you all that is happening in the valley, what more do you want? If I go for a walk, all I will see is a hawk flying, a spider’s web and an old woman on the road.”

The old man’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. “I want you to show me that you see the hunger of the hawk, the shadow of a spider’s web and the sweet smile of a life well lived – keep sweeping.”

Copyright 2010. This is an original story by Eric Wolf.  You may use this story on your website or magazine as long as this link is retained back to the International Storytelling School at http://www.thestorytellingschool.com

While working with the Smithsonian Folk Festival in Washington D.C., I had the beginnings of an idea. Storytelling as an art form clearly thrives in community. Many people who hunger to be better storytellers suffer from a lack of constructive feedback. Maybe what the storytelling community needs is someplace to go that will allow them to learn the process for creating great stories.