Story – an Introduction
I grew up on stories. Both of my parents were great at reading to us (my childhood memory is that it was every night). It was just what parents did – apparently had always done – probably since the beginning of time itself.
Even as I write this, I can look across my living room to my ‘wall of books’ to those five books called the Young Folks’ Library. Each volume was filled with stories, ostensibly for children. Years ago, I made sure I inherited them from my parents (who were themselves book people to the ‘nth degree). The books were themselves published in 1945, fourth edition (just after the war, I was 4 years old), by the Auxiliary Educational League, Chicago. Though the copyright is 1938. All I know is that I (we, I’m the oldest of three) were constantly read from those books.
“Once Upon A Time”
They are sometimes called “Fairy Tales.” I never fully understood why, except that some of them did include the fairy world – a higher level world. My mother was English-born, and became an acclaimed storyteller in her own right, so she already knew stuff.
Only as I began to write this introduction, did I realize why so many of the old stories began with “once upon a time.” Now 80 years later!
Time has many levels. In our culture, our primary level of time is the history level, or the level of calendar time – often called chronos. There’s another level of time, called kairos, or mythos – mythological or story time. Maybe a simple delineation would be – there is data time, and then there is meaning time. My old (ancient) American History college textbook is data time-based. However, when I attend a Fourth of July celebration, data time is transcended, elevated, into meaning time – a celebration of our heritage, our identity, what it means to be an American. The date is on our calendars, the meaning is higher, transcendent. [Trans… = higher, across or above.]
And so “once” – based on calendar time, “upon” – above or on top of, or outside of normal time. And these are often considered ‘teaching stories.’ Wisdom of the ages.
So here I share a Wisdom of the Ages story. I’ve known it for many years, and each time I hear or share it, it’s heard by my soul, and gives me peace.
This story comes from Native American tribal life somewhere in our NorthWest. (I apologize that I’ve forgotten the specific tribe.)
“Hey O Hey I tell a story. A story from the Ancient Ones.
I place tobacco (or light a candle, or somehow give honor) for their spirits.
Hey O Hey I tell a story. Listen and Learn.”
The Black Dog
Once upon a time, maybe a long time ago,
there was a cave, high up on the side of a mountain. Not accessible even with a modern GPS. Maybe only existing in the imagination of the People – but definitely Real. And worthy of being told when the time is right, as it seems to many, is now.
In this cave was an old woman, who sat in front of a loom. And it was said that she was always weaving the world.
Then, with a timing that she alone understood, she would pause her weaving, arise and make her way to the back of the cave – where there was a large pot, suspended over a fire that she would carefully tend. In that pot were all the seeds of the world. It was her job to keep the pot stirred, keeping the seeds of the world alive, for sake of those in the world who depended on them for life / sustenance.
Now on this occasion, she had almost completed her work, she arose to tend the fire and the pot with the seeds of the world.
But, there’s another element in this story —-
On one side of the cave, generally fast asleep, lay a Black Dog. (Remember the name of this story.) Now this time, when the old woman was tending the fire, and stirring the pot of the seeds of the world, the Black Dog shook himself awake, slowly made his way to the old woman’s loom, with his teeth grabbed a corner of the weaving, tore it from the loom, and shredded it completely. All that remained of the old woman’s work, was a pile of pieces of shredded yarn. Then the Black Dog returned to his sleeping place and went fast asleep.
Now, in our “White” world, our predilection would be to get rid of, to Kill the Dog!
But this is not just a “White world” story.
The True story, and its wisdom, continues within it’s own integrity:
The Old Woman looks at what has happened, sees the sleeping dog, and slowly begins to sort out all the disarrayed pieces of her almost accomplished work, re-sets her loom, and slowly begins again, the task of re-weaving the world.
The Old Woman knows this rhythm, she has endured it many times (A difference is that each time her teeth are worn down just a little bit more from biting the threads.
But there’s another difference. Each time she re-weaves the world, she does it a little bit differently. It’s never quite the same.
Afterword
Sometimes, when I tell a story, I’ll take it apart piece by piece for the listener(s) – because many (especially grown-ups) don’t remember how to hear such a story, (or we’ve taken too many college classes). But I’ve never chosen to dissect this one. I just speak it and let it be heard. The soul listens, and the soul learns. [Often and again in its own Time.]
As always, Pay Attention! (with good ears)
Bill McDonald
June 25, 2026