Redwood Vihara: Sacred Storytelling: What Story Are We Living?

Sacred Storytelling: What Story Are We Living? We are always telling stories. Stories about who we are. Stories about one another. Stories about what has happened to us and what might happen next. Stories about our communities and  the world. But how often do we stop and ask: How did I end up in the story that I’m telling now? And am I listening deeply enough to hear the stories of others? At a recent community gathering at Redwood Vihara, we explored storytelling not simply as entertainment, but as a contemplative practice: a way of awakening wonder, transmitting wisdom, deepening connection, and even transforming the stories through which we understand our lives. From Artificial Intelligence to Awakened Intelligence What if AI could also mean Awakened Intelligence? This is an intelligence of the heart. It is our capacity for gentleness, kindness, joy, deep listening, and care. It awakens as we discover our kinship with one another and with the larger world around us—with people, animals, redwoods, and the visible and invisible life of the forest. Technology may connect us in remarkable ways, but we cannot live on artificial connection alone. Just as the body needs real nourishment, the heart needs genuine friendship, presence, and belonging. We need experiences through which something in us can say, “Yes, I belong. I’m not alone. My life has meaning.” One of the oldest ways human beings have cultivated this sense of belonging and purpose is through storytelling. Stories of WOW Our friend and longtime storyteller Brian Conroy sang a song inviting us to see the world again through the fresh eyes of a child. WOW, what a song! From there, we gathered in small circles to reflect on a simple question: What is a story of “wow” in our own lives? Can we find the extraordinary in the ordinary? One person remembered being a small child, walking outside with a red plastic leaf blower to join the landscapers working near his home. Decades later, the day of work at Redwood Vihara suddenly brought that memory alive again. Several of his childhood dreams—to garden, to spend time in a monastery, and to help protect a place from fire—had actually come together in a joyful day of service. Another person recalled how a small gesture of friendship met a need that had felt difficult to express. What was hard for one person to ask for was easy for another to give. A simple offer became the beginning of a lifelong friendship. A young man recounted  a harrowing drive through a storm. His family was reciting the Great Compassion Mantra when a nearby car began hydroplaning toward them. A collision seemed inevitable; yet, somehow, the other car passed around them, as if  a protective force field surrounded their vehicle. His aunt and father, who were also at the gathering, filled in more of the story. They remembered not only the protection of their physical safety, but also an extraordinary sense of calm throughout the experience. As each person shared, everyone else practiced listening: not preparing a response, not giving advice, not comparing one story with another, but simply making space for another person’s experience. In this context, storytelling becomes more than the transmission of information. It becomes relationship. Story by story, we weave the fabric of community. For centuries, cultures around the world have understood this. Stories, songs, theater, and oral traditions carried history and values from one generation to another. They told people where they came from, what mattered, and how they might live. Today we consume an extraordinary amount of media, yet we have fewer opportunities to sit face-to-face and tell one another the stories that shape us. Sacred storytelling invites us back. Getting Out of the Way of the Story Later, we sat down with Brian to ask what transforms an ordinary story into a sacred one. His answer began with mindfulness and intention. Before telling a story, Brian often takes a moment to become quiet, breathe, and remember why he is there. His inner orientation is something like: May I honor this story. May I honor the people listening. May the wisdom and joy of this story come through. Most importantly, he said, “It’s not about me.” A storyteller may use humor, movement, rhythm, dramatic pauses, and all the skills of performance. But the goal is not to make the audience admire the performer. The storyteller tries to get out of the way so the story can shine through. Storytelling becomes not simply performance, but service. Brian spent decades teaching theater and public speaking and has practiced storytelling for  over 30 years. Yet when asked what the most essential storytelling skill is, he did not say charisma. He said presence. To look at someone and actually see them. To know who is listening. To feel the room. To communicate directly from one human being to another. And, perhaps surprisingly, Brian suggested that introverts can make especially powerful storytellers. Someone who has spent a lifetime quietly observing may have developed precisely the capacities storytelling needs: listening, sensitivity, attention, and awareness of others. The point is not to become a larger personality. It is to become more present. Stories as a Vehicle for Wisdom Brian’s own understanding of storytelling changed through his friendship with Rev. Heng Sure. He had already developed his theatrical and storytelling skills, but Rev. Heng Sure encouraged him to use those skills to bring Buddhist stories, parables, and tales from many cultures to life. A story does not even need to be explicitly Buddhist to teach Buddhist principles. What matters is the values it embodies. Can a story illuminate compassion? Patience? Generosity? Courage? Interdependence? Brian began taking traditional stories and finding ways to let their wisdom speak to contemporary audiences. Sometimes he reimagined familiar tales, such as he did with Janie Bodhiseed. Sometimes a Dharma teaching sparked an entirely new story. Redwood Vihara itself provided one inspiration. We often speak about how redwoods withstand tremendous storms despite their relatively shallow roots because those roots intertwine and support one another. Brian heard that teaching and saw a story waiting inside it: Grandpa Redwood Tree. Building a Story Together Together, we also discovered that storytelling does not always require words. Brian led the community through simple theater exercises. Standing in a circle, we tossed a ball from person to person, working collectively to include everyone.The main instruction was simple: no one could talk. We had to pay attention. Next, we created a human mandala. One person entered the center, and others gradually joined, responding to one another’s gestures until separate bodies became a single, spontaneous sculpture. There was plenty of laughter. But underneath the play was a kind of attunement. Can thirty people become, for a moment, one attentive body? This was another form of storytelling. Instead of one person determining the narrative, everyone participated in something that emerged between us. We were telling a collective story. From Drama to Dharma In the future, we hope to offer a Dharma Drama Immersion, using theater, storytelling, movement, and contemplative practice as means of inner transformation and community building. Historically, theater has not only been entertainment. It has helped communities transmit values, work with emotion, build relationships, and understand themselves. Brian also reminded us that the world is already difficult enough. Our work and family lives contain plenty of challenges. Spiritual community can also offer places where we move our bodies, use our imaginations, laugh together, and rediscover the freedom of play. What Story Are We Telling? At the end of the gathering, we returned to the deeper question beneath everything we had done that day: We are all telling a story. What story are we telling? When we begin meditating and observing the mind, we discover just how continuously we narrate our lives. This happened to me.That person is like this.I am this kind of person.Things will always be this way. Without realizing it, we may begin living inside stories we inherited or constructed long ago—stories that can confine us. Practice creates a little space. We begin to see a story as a story rather than as the whole of reality. Within that spaciousness, another possibility appears: we gain some freedom in how we relate to the story and how we continue it. Can we tell a story rooted in compassion rather than resentment?A story of gratitude rather than lack?A story in which our wounds are real, but are not the entirety of who we are?A story in which we belong? This does not mean putting on rose-tinted glasses or turning away from suffering. Sacred storytelling asks us instead to look deeply at our experience and discover the meaning, relationship, and possibility already present within it. A Story Larger Than Ourselves We ended the day by dedicating whatever goodness had come from our time together. People named parents, partners, children, friends, teachers, those facing illness and surgery, those approaching the end of life, people affected by war and hunger, the Sangha, the forest, and all living beings. One person offered: “To the child in all of us.” Like a child, we can look up at a redwood, hear another person’s story, or simply notice our breath and encounter the world as fresh and alive. Sacred storytelling reminds us that wonder is all around us. We may tell our individual stories, but gradually we discover that none of them stands alone. Like the roots beneath a redwood forest, our lives are intertwined. At Redwood Vihara, we are part of a collective story: we belong; we awaken together; and together, we can serve a story greater than any one of us. Visit: https://redwoodvihara.org/sacred-storytelling-what-story-are-we-living/