Fortunately for me, during most of my youthful years, we lived close to my grandparents. Even when we lived farther away, my parents were great about going home to see my grandparents. I treasure the time I was given with these wonderful spirits. In particular, my maternal grandmother and I were best friends. I don’t remember ever thinking of my grandparents as old, or ancient – not in the negative, labeling sense.
The stream is ancient. To me, ancient speaks not of time but of experience. Experience is a great teacher when enhanced by the love of a storyteller.
Patch, my dad’s dad, was a great storyteller. He mostly told for the love of the experience being told about. But occasionally he told an old story for the need in the present moment – the need of the listener.
The stream is ancient in its experience and the stream is now for the benefactor of its magic. The magic is played out for the benefactor because the stream understands its place in the larger story. Through the stories of my grandparents, I felt their sense of purpose in the moment of the telling and I still feel the purpose all these years later. I always felt a story was being told just for me.
The stream is ancient in its experience. My grandparents were wise in their experience. When this experiential wisdom is carefully handled by the loving storyteller, I trust it explicitly.