Stories Old and New

Today I was riding around on my mountain bike past streets that were significant in the story of my family. I am visiting Brisbane for a week or so and it was on the way to where I wanted to go. Beatrice Street, Broomfield Street, Woolley Street, Goldsborough Road. Brisbane is not old and even in the first half of the 20th century these places had grown and changed quite a bit. But in my lifetime they have changed a lot too. Where my great-grandfather lived, where my mother lived, these houses have gone. Where my father lived as a child is still there but everything around is different and the suburb has changed from an almost rural edge of town to one now seen as close to the city.
As I rode I pondered the stories of my family and began to think of the way one must let go of them. It has been on my mind a lot lately; that we are each just a story. We connect with the world by adding bits to our story. Each of the great religions too add to people’s lives by allowing them into a bigger world encompassing story. Of course not all stories we tell ourselves are true or helpful and empowering. And we can lie. Scott Peck explores this idea in his book "People of theLie". It has been a long time since I read that but if I recall correctly he saw a lot of people’s problems and human evil arising through the lies they tell themselves. He’s probably right. I have listened to a rapist rationalise away his actions and one can be almost fooled into believeing the lie along with him. I mean it has to be good in order for an otherwise "normal" person to be able to perpetrate such things and live with themselves.
But I am getting into darkness there and I didn’t want to.
As I continued riding into the beautiful bushland over Mt Cootha I began to ponder the stories of the older inhabitants of this country. I remember once hearing an aborigine talking about wilderness areas and the confusion the term first caused. His people thought the towns and cities and farms were the wilderness and early discussions with white fellas on declaring wilderness were consequently misconstrued. I can only glimpse the connections with bush that a tribesman might have had or might still have. It is about the stories again. Every tree,shrub, bird and animal would fit into their story. I am sad when my grandfathers house turns to a block of units, when indian mynors invade the city and take the nest site of parrots but these things are still part of my story. I am part of the conquest of the planet in my car, in my work, on my mountainbike. I cannot really imagine the desolation caused if all my stories were wiped out by wilderness. The wilderness of city, of farming, of mining. It is easy to say aborigines should stand up and take on our story. I mean they have been forced into it by history but how do you let go of a story that is no longer the way the world is when you love that old story. It IS you.
People cling to old notions of God for the same reason. They retreat into fundamentalism, even terrorism rather than rewrite the story. Each person must find the way to reconcile the old and the new for themselves. We need to help people find stories that are helpful, reconciling, empowereing and valuing of that which they must give away to go forward.
That’s what I reckon today after a ride in the bush anyway!