Yesterday (not for the first time) I told my students a story. It was an old story about a pearl, a dragon and a cave.
After I had told it, I thought about the very distinctive, unalloyed pleasure it gives me when I’m telling a story. And I realized something. When I’m telling a story, I feel like I’m telling the truth. Not just ‘a way of thinking’; not just ‘a perspective’; not just ‘a metaphor for something literal’. I feel like something pure and truthful is being given voice by the telling of the story.
I can’t think of anything else I do or say that gives me this feeling of some kind of pure truth coming out of my mouth.
This is not easy to understand. In this postmodern age, it’s not an easy thing to admit. But that’s what it feels like.