Once upon a time there was a man who had lived the lives of many men.
He had been a teacher and a student, a hero and a villain, a coward and a soldier. He had been as rich as the kings and as poor as the peasants. He had been a detective, solving puzzles and a crook, as cunning as they come. He had been loyal, selfish, outspoken and shy. He had spoken on behalf of the downtrodden, and also trodden on those who were down. He had been an intelligent genius and dimwitted simpleton, loving and cruel, arrogant and humble. He had been a bad man, a mad man, a great man, and also a good man. He had been a son, a brother a husband and a father. He had lived and loved and lost, over all the different lands. And he had been all of those men, in all of those places, because somebody, at some point in time, had wanted him to be one of those men.
He had been around, in the mind of one man or another, forever since before, and it is possible that he would be other men, in one frame of mind or another, forever afterwards as well, for it seemed that there was always someone out there who wanted him to be someone else.
But one day came, when the man was travelling along, that he wasn't anyone, for he hadn't come across anyone who wanted him to be someone. As he walked along he became tense and uncomfortable, for he was no one. It had been many lifetimes since he had been his real self that he no longer knew who that man was. He wasn't even sure if that man still existed or if he had died, many men ago.
He wandered, lost and confused and was falling into despair. How could he live if he wasn't someone. How could he decide where to go or what to do. For days he travelled along like this, alone and doubtful and it scared him. And not once did he come across another soul who would tell him who to be.
The days grew shorter and colder and before long he found himself walking in the rain, searching for anywhere that would provide shelter. Then he saw it. A small light in the dark. A light that grew brighter the closer he got to it. The man's spirits lifted, for not only was the light a source of shelter, but it meant that someone was there. Someone who could tell him who to be next. His tired walk turned into an enthusiastic run as he made his way to the small cottage that was providing the light in the form of several small lanterns on a window ledge. The man knocked on the cottage door and before long it was opened by a young woman.
Seeing the man shivering and looking like death on her door step she quickly stepped aside and invited him in to warm by the fire. As he dried off by the roaring flames she made him a drink of crushed, dark brown beans, boiled in water. Once it was poured into a clay mug, milk was added along with a dash of honey, and handed over to the man that had been out in the terrible storm. He thanked her and drank the drink down. It seemed to waken him up. His eyes regained their light and pink tinted his pale cheeks. She retrieved spare blankets from her room and invited him to spend the night by the fire, and to wait until the storm had passed. He thanked her and did just that.
In the morning the rain was still pouring down and the wind was still roaring outside the little cottage. Again the man thanked the woman for her hospitality. In exchange for her kindness he offered to be anyone she desired. If there was one person in her life that she needed, he would be it. The woman did not understand what the man meant so he explained to her how he had been all of the different men over the course of many lifetimes all because of the needs and wants of other people.
The woman listened carefully to his stories and when he finished, which took many days to recount, the rain had stopped and the sun was out. The woman looked at the man with the remarkable stories and smiled. She told him that she didn't require payment for helping him. She would have done it for anyone who was lost out in a storm. She also told him that she didn't want him to be anyone, just himself.
The smile that the man had regained after finding the cottage left his face. The weight that had lifted from his shoulders, after finding another person, had resettled there again. The woman noticed the distress in the man's face and asked him to explain. He told her that he didn't know how to be himself, that he was pretty sure that himself no longer existed, and if there wasn't someone to tell him who to be then he would be lost. He would be no one.
The woman laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and told him that everyone was someone. He just had to find out who his someone was, and that he was welcome to stay for as long as he liked while he figured it out.
The man felt numb. For days he sat on the chair, facing the fire, while he thought. One day the woman asked him to help out in the garden for a while. He did, jut to take his mind off of the depression that he was feeling. The next day she asked him to help fix the hen house. He did, just to be able to ignore the emptiness that filled his chest. Over the weeks the woman asked him to help around the cottage and to help gather supplies. The man agreed to help her in order to ignore the niggling in his head that tried to remind him that he wasn't complete. Over the months the man didn't need asking. It had become habit to wake up and know what needed doing and to do it without being asked. He listened to the woman, to the stories that she told. He learnt to live with what they had and built new skills in order to make their lives more comfortable. He stopped thinking about who he wasn't, not that the man noticed, as he had become so pre-occupied with the man he was being.
One day a family came through the woods and stopped near the stream that ran by their cottage. While the adults made use of the fresh water the children explored and soon found themselves at the little cottage where the man was working in the garden. The children were excited to see someone, who was not their mama or their papa and started chatting to the man excitedly. Their small excited faces and their lively chatter brought memories of the men he had been and he sat down and started to tell the children about some of his stories. The children were captivated with the man's many adventures, their eyes wide with amazement and they held their breath in suspense. They laughed and cried, cheered and booed, and asked for more until the day started to fade and their parents came looking for them.
The man never saw the children again, but word spread to villages near and far, about a man who lived in a cottage with a woman, in the middle of the woods. The man was a simple man but the stories he told were full of magic and wonder and as the word about the man spread, more and more people came to find themselves in the middle of the woods, sitting and listening to this storyteller tell the adventures of a thousand lives and he was happy and the audience was happy and the woman stood by and smiled. She smiled because the man had found himself. After living his lives for other people he could now use those lives for one that he chose for himself. And he was happy. He was The Storyman.
Over the years the Storyman and the woman in the cottage married and had many children of their own and the man shared his stories with his children and all of the other people who travelled to listen to him.
The Storyman and his wife grew old together and lived a happy life, and then one day he closed his eyes and did not open them again. But his stories lived on through his children and their children and their children, and so forth and so on, and the tales of all of the men that the Storyman had lived carried on until the end of time.
He had been a teacher and a student, a hero and a villain, a coward and a soldier. He had been as rich as the kings and as poor as the peasants. He had been a detective, solving puzzles and a crook, as cunning as they come. He had been loyal, selfish, outspoken and shy. He had spoken on behalf of the downtrodden, and also trodden on those who were down. He had been an intelligent genius and dimwitted simpleton, loving and cruel, arrogant and humble. He had been a bad man, a mad man, a great man, and also a good man. He had been a son, a brother a husband and a father. He had lived and loved and lost, over all the different lands. And he had been all of those men, in all of those places, because somebody, at some point in time, had wanted him to be one of those men.
He had been around, in the mind of one man or another, forever since before, and it is possible that he would be other men, in one frame of mind or another, forever afterwards as well, for it seemed that there was always someone out there who wanted him to be someone else.
But one day came, when the man was travelling along, that he wasn't anyone, for he hadn't come across anyone who wanted him to be someone. As he walked along he became tense and uncomfortable, for he was no one. It had been many lifetimes since he had been his real self that he no longer knew who that man was. He wasn't even sure if that man still existed or if he had died, many men ago.
He wandered, lost and confused and was falling into despair. How could he live if he wasn't someone. How could he decide where to go or what to do. For days he travelled along like this, alone and doubtful and it scared him. And not once did he come across another soul who would tell him who to be.
The days grew shorter and colder and before long he found himself walking in the rain, searching for anywhere that would provide shelter. Then he saw it. A small light in the dark. A light that grew brighter the closer he got to it. The man's spirits lifted, for not only was the light a source of shelter, but it meant that someone was there. Someone who could tell him who to be next. His tired walk turned into an enthusiastic run as he made his way to the small cottage that was providing the light in the form of several small lanterns on a window ledge. The man knocked on the cottage door and before long it was opened by a young woman.
Seeing the man shivering and looking like death on her door step she quickly stepped aside and invited him in to warm by the fire. As he dried off by the roaring flames she made him a drink of crushed, dark brown beans, boiled in water. Once it was poured into a clay mug, milk was added along with a dash of honey, and handed over to the man that had been out in the terrible storm. He thanked her and drank the drink down. It seemed to waken him up. His eyes regained their light and pink tinted his pale cheeks. She retrieved spare blankets from her room and invited him to spend the night by the fire, and to wait until the storm had passed. He thanked her and did just that.
In the morning the rain was still pouring down and the wind was still roaring outside the little cottage. Again the man thanked the woman for her hospitality. In exchange for her kindness he offered to be anyone she desired. If there was one person in her life that she needed, he would be it. The woman did not understand what the man meant so he explained to her how he had been all of the different men over the course of many lifetimes all because of the needs and wants of other people.
The woman listened carefully to his stories and when he finished, which took many days to recount, the rain had stopped and the sun was out. The woman looked at the man with the remarkable stories and smiled. She told him that she didn't require payment for helping him. She would have done it for anyone who was lost out in a storm. She also told him that she didn't want him to be anyone, just himself.
The smile that the man had regained after finding the cottage left his face. The weight that had lifted from his shoulders, after finding another person, had resettled there again. The woman noticed the distress in the man's face and asked him to explain. He told her that he didn't know how to be himself, that he was pretty sure that himself no longer existed, and if there wasn't someone to tell him who to be then he would be lost. He would be no one.
The woman laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and told him that everyone was someone. He just had to find out who his someone was, and that he was welcome to stay for as long as he liked while he figured it out.
The man felt numb. For days he sat on the chair, facing the fire, while he thought. One day the woman asked him to help out in the garden for a while. He did, jut to take his mind off of the depression that he was feeling. The next day she asked him to help fix the hen house. He did, just to be able to ignore the emptiness that filled his chest. Over the weeks the woman asked him to help around the cottage and to help gather supplies. The man agreed to help her in order to ignore the niggling in his head that tried to remind him that he wasn't complete. Over the months the man didn't need asking. It had become habit to wake up and know what needed doing and to do it without being asked. He listened to the woman, to the stories that she told. He learnt to live with what they had and built new skills in order to make their lives more comfortable. He stopped thinking about who he wasn't, not that the man noticed, as he had become so pre-occupied with the man he was being.
One day a family came through the woods and stopped near the stream that ran by their cottage. While the adults made use of the fresh water the children explored and soon found themselves at the little cottage where the man was working in the garden. The children were excited to see someone, who was not their mama or their papa and started chatting to the man excitedly. Their small excited faces and their lively chatter brought memories of the men he had been and he sat down and started to tell the children about some of his stories. The children were captivated with the man's many adventures, their eyes wide with amazement and they held their breath in suspense. They laughed and cried, cheered and booed, and asked for more until the day started to fade and their parents came looking for them.
The man never saw the children again, but word spread to villages near and far, about a man who lived in a cottage with a woman, in the middle of the woods. The man was a simple man but the stories he told were full of magic and wonder and as the word about the man spread, more and more people came to find themselves in the middle of the woods, sitting and listening to this storyteller tell the adventures of a thousand lives and he was happy and the audience was happy and the woman stood by and smiled. She smiled because the man had found himself. After living his lives for other people he could now use those lives for one that he chose for himself. And he was happy. He was The Storyman.
Over the years the Storyman and the woman in the cottage married and had many children of their own and the man shared his stories with his children and all of the other people who travelled to listen to him.
The Storyman and his wife grew old together and lived a happy life, and then one day he closed his eyes and did not open them again. But his stories lived on through his children and their children and their children, and so forth and so on, and the tales of all of the men that the Storyman had lived carried on until the end of time.