Story Games and resuscitating home grown Story!

[quote=“Willem, post:15, topic:738”][quote]I like the plurality of “cultures,” but I don’t know if “culture” makes the right point at all. Do we have a culture, distinct from a nature? Or do we just have modes of dwelling, the ways in which we participate in the landscape? Oh, but I get ahead of myself here. I should finish Ingold’s book before I try to preach it. :slight_smile:
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I accept ‘modes-of-dwelling’ as a very fine alternative to the word ‘culture’. It fits in with what I intended to mean. Maybe even better, ‘modes-of-relating’ :)[/quote]

I’ve been gone from the forum a few days, and whew! Lots to read.

The way I see culture is that it encompasses a vision. A vision of the way that you and your community of fellow humans fit into the world and with each other. The story that you live out, in Quinn’s words. And the vision/story produces works of creativity (myths, artwork, ritual objects, the design of tools) that identify your group apart from other groups and “feed back” into the vision itself. Cultural vision, in the sense that I’m talking about, is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Yeah, that’d fit the usual sense of the word. But think about that. That means that you have the landscape, naked of any story of its own, so we have to “clothe” it with the meaning of a story. It fits the civilized ideology of dualism: nature vs. culture, the physical world vs. the mental world, etc. It does not fit the animist understanding that the story already exists in the land. You don’t choose the story anymore than you create the sunset. You participate in it.

I’ll have a lot more to say about this in months to come. :slight_smile:

...let's just tell stories about what we experience ('shamanically'/in-dream or physically/wakingj), not about what we 'know' or read.

Hearing a story doesn’t count as experience? Writing has its problems, but what you read still counts under the heading of stories you’ve heard, and as I come to appreciate more and more the idea of stories and art in general as a way of directing perception, as a kind of perception in its own right, it seems to me that you do experience the things you read. The times that things I’ve read have changed my point of view entirely definitely count as experiences; in fact, some of my most profound revelatory experiences.

I have to disagree with you on that Jason. That’s not what oral tradition is about. People think nowadays that reading about an experience or watching a movie about it or playing a thematic video game counts as experiencing it. Not quite.

I’ve been in school the last couple of years. It just drives me crazy when people feel they can speak authoritatively on something because they have long list of citations and references in perfect APA format and that counts as being “well researched”. That’s just a vicarious life man.

I’m tired of Daniel Quinn quotes. And I have no interest in some fantasy created by someone who has read about life or is regurgitating a philosophical position. I want to hear about real life experience.

I realize this is going to come off like a short rant. I don’t mean it to sound that way, so if you can imagine that I’m just saying these things as a calm expression of my point of view and not an attack then you will get a more realistic picture of where I’m coming from.

heyvictor (and Willem),

i tend to want to fabricate and engineer the “perfect story” with layers of “perfect meaning” based on things i’ve read because i haven’t had that many interesting “wild” experiences. so, thank you for the reminder/encouragement to stay rooted in experience!

~wildeyes

I don’t think you really get what I mean; which I have to expect, since what I mean goes completely against what we all grew up thinking, and it took me quite some time to figure this out myself.

We grew up thinking like this: an artist paints a picture. The picture represents something out there in the physical world. It symbolizes. We experience the picture, and thus, vicariously, the thing the picture symbolizes.

From that, you get the primitivist critique of art: how it alienates, removes us from direct experience, and all the other things you mentioned and alluded to.

But that comes from the logic (Greek logos, meaning “word”) of literacy, the fundamental dualism between the “thing” and what it “represents,” predicated in the relationship of letter to phoneme. We extend it everywhere. We extend it to ourselves, even, dividing the bodily “thing” from the spiritual meaning it “represents”. Tim Ingold calls this the “building perspective.” We build a thing. First, you have the blueprints, then you build the house, and you call the house “complete” when you finish the plans set out in the blueprint. We see this idea in ourselves, too, between a genotypic blueprint and a phenotypic completion.

But let’s peel that back for a moment, and remember that before we invented the alphabet, we had orality. In orality, communication occurs. It puts your mind into a viewpoint of processes, events and relationships, rather than things with static attributes. This much, I presume, just reviews what we all already know. So let me push this a little further, analogous to how the civilized concept of art and story you’ve critiqued follows from the “building perspective.”

The oral perspective gives rise to what Ingold calls the “dwelling perspective.” You can never call the house complete. For the barest moment, perhaps, the house matches the blueprint, but before that it existed as trees over there and this patch of ground, and immediately thereafter, wind, rain, and its occupants–humans, yes, but also those mice in the basement, the songbird that builds its nest in the eaves, and the bat that gets loose in the attic–begin to change it. When can we call it “complete,” then? The house, just like all those who dwell in it, engage in a constant, ongoing process of dwelling, of active participation. The dwelling perspective doesn’t focus on static things and their attributes because such things do not exist; if they appear to exist, they simply delude us, just as the printed letter on the page deludes us into thinking it endures. But in fact, all writing eventually fades away. Letters aspire to “build,” but really, they always “dwell.”

Cultures that live with such a perspective still make art, yes. But painters do not paint to create a painting; they paint to paint. They aim to perform, rather than to create. Notice that very often, the art produced gets thrown away or hidden almost immediately. Even among civilized cultures, you have Buddhist sand paintings. Ingold goes into some detail about Australian aboriginal painters, and how their painting over emphasizes going over and retracing the paths of the ancestors; art means the performance of painting. The painting and the act of painting have the same relationship as a track does to walking. A track does not signify, symbolize, or represent walking; it leaves evidence of walking because it emerged from the same act. The Australian aborigines tend to view the landscape itself as just such a painting, emerged from the ancestors’ journeys. Which we certainly cannot deny: the landscape as it exists today comes from millions of years of tracks and signs, layed down thick, layer upon layer. Tectonic plate people push up mountains; worm people grind them down into rolling hills as they make soil; tree people and plant people and animal people make forests. You could hardly ask for a more direct expounding of Gaia Theory.

So, to get back to the original point of direct vs. removed experience, stories in the dwelling perspective do not “represent” or “symbolize.” You cannot live vicariously through them. Rather, they come from skilled perception. They trace over the same patterns of relationship, and they direct your attention and perception to those areas that novices overlook, which the skilled, through years of accumulating skill, have noticed. Hearing a Coyote tale does not allow you to vicariously live out an encounter with Coyote; it offers an encounter with Coyote all its own. We can see Coyote; we can hear Coyote; we can smell Coyote; we can taste Coyote; we can feel Coyote. But we neglect other senses; emotions, imagination, and story operate as much as senses for us as our ears, eyes, nose, tongue or fingers, because these things do not reside inside of a human skull. Sight comes from your active engagement with the world; hearing comes from your active engagement with the world. So, too, story, emotion and imagination all come from your active engagement with the world.

Tim Ingold offers a lot more on this perspective, and I can’t say I’ve entirely mastered it yet. But to hear much the same straight from a native source, I’ve often cited Joe Sheridan and Roronhiakewen “He Clears the Sky” Dan Longboat’s “The Haudenosaunee Imagination and the Ecology of the Sacred” before, and it certainly applies here.

So, to get back to the original point of direct vs. removed experience, stories in the dwelling perspective do not "represent" or "symbolize." You cannot live vicariously through them. Rather, they come from skilled perception. They trace over the same patterns of relationship, and they direct your attention and perception to those areas that novices overlook, which the skilled, through years of accumulating skill, have noticed.

I agree exactly with this, but doesn’t that make an important point? We have no Story, for us (without an indigenous heritage, blooded or adopted), that has this in-dwelling perspective. It seems to me a worthwhile Story, that shares the power of a firsthand experience, requires that particular skilled and experienced perception. Textbooks, science journals, newspaper articles, the diverse literate detritus of civilized opinions do not for me count as skilled perception, because of their fragmented and non-in-dwelling nature.

For me, a good Story does transport you to that firsthand experience, because it doesn’t differ at all from the shamanic/in-dream experience of reality. The Story makes you Go There.

I just want to make a distinction between literate ‘knowledge’ and oral ‘experience’, which I know you see also. I think this applies here to Story in an important way, don’t you?

I had another really exciting thought here, which may apply in a cool way.

Each of us has our own powers, our own capacities, our unique gifts for relationships (in an animist sense).

I think even the old Stories of place, they required a listener to WORK to fully receive everything the Story had to offer. See Martin Prechtel’s Disobedience of the Daughter of the Sun for an intense and revelatory breakdown of just how deep an indigenous Story can go. It also exposes the depth of the relationship to place.

For some of us, we connect with certain stories more than others, because of our capacities.

For me, a geology text does nothing. Lifeless. Words on a page.

For you, that same text, transports you on a journey, Right Now, to a place of heat, of unbearable grinding pressures, of glittering stone and flowing rock.

No matter how much I work, I know certain books and texts just do not open for me as Story in that sense, as able to transport me somewhere Now. I usually describe these kinds of things as academic or some such. But perhaps I more honestly mean, ‘academic for me - cold and stale for me - no journey anywhere, For ME’.

The danger of that geology text may lie in that, on its surface, you will learn the relationship of a conquering people to their un-honored place. The potential of that geology text may lie in that, you can ignore that surface layer, and go on your own journey, right now, deep into the earth.

Truly powerful Story of place means you don’t have to defend yourself against its surface, I think. It takes care of you on all levels. For some of us, perhaps we can access modern story in spite of its alienation from its place.

I’ll make room for this possibility, sure. In the end, as wildeyes mentioned, I feel most importantly, that when we make and tell Story together, it expresses US, and the journeys we have gone on, whether we like it or not, and with all the beautiful implications thereof. We don’t need MORE. We don’t need to somehow squeeze in knowledge that never made us have firsthand relationships with anything, in-dream, or waking. It doesn’t count, it doesn’t express us. And we in any case can’t stop the Stories we make together expressing exactly our relationship with the world. Folks will know when we fake it. :slight_smile:

[EDIT: I really want to press on this one - do people know what I mean when I say ‘they’ll know when we fake it’? Have you ever read those particular self-consciously made-up and fake-feeling ‘white people’ versions of coyote tales, or nature folklore? One of my pet peeves. People with no experience, making up stories that sound like an indian myth. ick. rather than us, telling a story together, about what cuts off our nuts and hands them to us on a plate. so to speak. :slight_smile: A story that frickin’ GRABS us. you know?]

Fortunately, we only need to make the Stories that matter to people just like us, right now. What other Stories matter? Not Stories for people like them, over there, and how they lived, once upon a time (although Stories about them will help us too, when grounded in our lives now).

I hope I’ve made my point here. In any case, the LAST thing I want to do concerns holding court on the validity of someone else’s joy and passion. If I ever do that, please shoot me. with your mind bullets.

I want to throw in my 2 cents as a lifetime non-gamer, jumping into these story games.

Despite the challenges, playing these games feels like a powerful rewilding tool, a way to reclaim some things, some ways, that the vacuum of civilization has sucked away. The games weave together both the giving/making/doing and the receiving/hearing/reflecting of story.

Willem’s story about Dunbar’s number reminded me of a study I heard about linking depression to the (in our culture, small or nonexistent) number of human faces we see within a short time of rising in the morning (i.e, more faces, less depression). Alone in our single-family dwellings and cubicles and one-person vehicles and solitary paths through days of completing personal tasks and missions, how much opportunity do we have to bounce ourselves and our creative energies off of other people, rapid-fire, for hours at a time, having emotional and visionary experiences, and receive the shaping, polishing, surprising, challenging, reflex-building gifts of their collaborative influence on us? Receiving others’ influence. hmm. Not small talk. How do you think those folks built 150 intimate, high-functioning relationships?

What about the process of releasing the dominator culture’s deep grip and beginning to embrace, embody and move towards animist point of view? Sure I try to get out of the city, and see the natural world’s presence within, beneath, around and through the city, but these stories encourage me to immerse myself in the experience of a lake, a mountain, a boulder; to think about what they might feel, want, need. Obviously this waking dream/imagining has different qualites from the experience of going out into the woods and asking the tree or lake, feeling/sensing/sharing their experiences, but it has great value nonetheless. Practice.

Jason’s comments about art strike a chord here, too–the value of these games lies not entirely in the product, the story you take away, remember, talk about, build on, but the process of making it. Trial and error, learning what works well and not so much, the process of building your storyteller self. The performance, the collaboration, the challenge to your new muscles, sucking it up and allowing yourself to “suck” and awkwardly (at least, for me! :wink: )move towards something really cool and useful and helpful and fantastic and life-giving.

What embodies health–whether mental, physical, spiritual, emotional–more than resilience? That possibility, growing ever more resilient, really pumps me up.

Hit me, story games! 8)

#1:

Jason’s comments about art strike a chord here, too–the value of these games lies not entirely in the product, the story you take away, remember, talk about, build on, but the process of making it. Trial and error, learning what works well and not so much, the process of building your storyteller self. The performance, the collaboration, the challenge to your new muscles, sucking it up and allowing yourself to “suck” and awkwardly (at least, for me! Wink )move towards something really cool and useful and helpful and fantastic and life-giving.

Yes, thanks for underscoring that. In my haste to make my point, I never honored how much that perspective inspired me. I LOVE it. When we make Story, we make sand paintings, we make tracks, or more to the point, the Land makes us when we think we make Story. :slight_smile:

#2: On an entirely different and indie-story-game specific note, I want to say another reason why I like the In A Wicked Age game - you never have to play the same role twice, from game to game. In fact, you have to play hard enough to EARN the right to play the same character again. Therefore, as you work your story skillz, you can walk away from characters you don’t feel so inspired by (or proud of the work you did, or connected to, or whatever). I gives more of a feeling of freeness to make mistakes and play awkwardly in the beginning. I don’t really know any other game that does this. AND, in all honesty, I played Primetime Adventures just like this. Though our story group would say, every time, ‘yeah, let’s play the whole season of this show premise and these characters, we like it’, I would find an excuse to brainstorm a different show for the next story game night. Huh. Maybe it doesn’t work for everybody, but apparently it makes official what I wanted to do anyway.

So am i getting it when i say that there are no boundaries between story and not-story?. Or maybe a better way to put it, that story is as real as the tracks we leave in the earth? There is no extra-reality mentalplane type-of-thing, in which they exist. Stories are here with us, all around, real and ever-changing, ever open to interpretation, creation, destruction, adaptation. Dynamic & alive.
stories subsist in the same space we do. just as real.

I love how this post has spiralled into something i’d never had imagined. Im happy you posted your thoughts in such an accessible way Willem. It seems our lack of participating in that part of our reality that concerns itself with stories has gotten many of us conscious of our detached world-view. do we yearn for interaction with our lost world of stories? i do. and it seems many here with me. THat in itself creates a story to remember.

The story-games can obviously be of great value here. Telling stories of grief has been mentioned, and so we could tell stories of anger, of detachment, of tribes and individuality, of death and life. Tell stories to deal with your important issues, share your doubts with friends. Tell them from a different point of view, tell a story in situation you fear or tell a story of accomplishment. Find people you trust and ask them to sit with you. Ask what bothers them, what they would want to change if they could, and create a story of that together. Listen to eachother, build on eachother’s suggestions. Accept what’s being said, and jive to it.

Willem has said somewhere that telling stories together is like making jazz or jamming with a band. You learn to listen, to attune, and to create together, jive to that tune!

take care!

I certainly think so. Think of it this way, in the Lakota tradition, they don’t think of ‘singing’ as a skill, anymore than one Coyote howls more skillfully than another, or a Song sparrow sings more sweetly than another. Or for that matter, a deer poops, or a skunk sheds a hair, or a fox leaves a track more skillfully than another. All of them express their true nature, uncensored, and sing for that exact reason and no other. Your voice doesn’t differ from your smell, your nail-parings, your sweat - it works as one of many ‘appurtenances’ that signify you. So collaborative (and inherited) Story does the same. It works as an extension of your body, no different in its inseparability from any other element of the Land and relations.

There is no extra-reality mentalplane type-of-thing, in which they exist. Stories are here with us, all around, real and ever-changing, ever open to interpretation, creation, destruction, adaptation. Dynamic & alive. stories subsist in the same space we do. just as real.

Right. As real as our poop, our sweat, as real as drinking poisoned river-water means poisoned blood in our veins, which means poisoning river-water means we’ve already poisoned ourselves. The Land creates our stories just as through evolution she has created us, and continues to do so.

do we yearn for interaction with our lost world of stories? i do. and it seems many here with me. THat in itself creates a story to remember.

This thread has definitely surprised me too. It makes me happy to hear the voices chime in, and different folks write passionately on this.

The story-games can obviously be of great value here. Telling stories of grief has been mentioned, and so we could tell stories of anger, of detachment, of tribes and individuality, of death and life. Tell stories to deal with your important issues, share your doubts with friends. Tell them from a different point of view, tell a story in situation you fear or tell a story of accomplishment. Find people you trust and ask them to sit with you. Ask what bothers them, what they would want to change if they could, and create a story of that together. Listen to eachother, build on eachother's suggestions. Accept what's being said, and jive to it.

I love it. Yes, yes, yes.

Willem has said somewhere that telling stories together is like making jazz or jamming with a band. You learn to listen, to attune, and to create together, jive to that tune!

Woo-hoo!

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I have a new word for collaborative storytelling:
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Story-jamming!
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C’mon. You wish you thought of that yourself, don’t you. Ha!

And, without a doubt, I think story-jamming requires a higher and more keen sensitivity and skill than just storytelling.

Which means, practice story-jamming, and then story-telling should feel effortless.

Not only that, but I think every Story Band should get a Band name!

Yep. You wish you thought of that too, huh? Too bad!

Just imagine, a world full of Story Bands, jamming away, playing with story, bringing back the tradition in a renewal of collaborative story.

The end goal, as you know, means to fully develop the skill to vividly and collaboratively dream while waking.

Which means I officially have to move this thread to the Spiritual Technology topic.

Mwahahaha!

Bedtime.

I hope I have a dream about my new Story Band’s name.

Jason-

I cannot believe you didn’t post a link here to Bone White, Blood Red, the Pueblo Uprising of 1600 story-game. Jeez. Pueblo indians massacring cruel despotic Spanish citizenry. Resistance! (Spanish) civilization out of the Big River Valley! Free the village of Bead Water (aka Santa Fe )!

This wins the ‘too cool for school’ award, definitely.

I just glanced over the Bone White, Blood Red game. It looks quite nice indeed. I love the idea of the beads story and threads… just wow. Thanks for pointing this one out to us. Already got a name for your band?

AWESOM FUCKN NES, Willem! :slight_smile: Ye-ha! This gets me so amped-up for my next story shamanize coaction shindig, I see so many possibilities with these skill variations! Thanks a lot for sharin! Woo! Sigh!

I agree exactly with this, but doesn't that make an important point? We have no Story, for us (without an indigenous heritage, blooded or adopted), that has this in-dwelling perspective.

Only if you think science succeeds in its paradoxical pursuit of the god’s eye view. If it doesn’t, then, as much as that vain pursuit will hold it back, it still has to dwell and participate in the world, for lack of any other alternative. Science tries to build, but it still dwells, because the aspirations of the building perspective contradict each other. It can offer a story–impoverished, yes, but does Perfect war against Good? David Mech lived with wolves for years at a time; he aspires to a building perspective, but he still had to dwell. When Scott London asked David Abram, “Do we have any equivalents of medicine people in Western culture, people who perform a similar function?” Abram suggested, “We do have some distant equivalents, such as field biologists who are able to enter into a close rapport with the other species that they are studying.”

In my own case, I found some seeds worth cultivating. What science could tell me about the eastern coyote filled in more than I could observe myself, and helped me appreciate our kinship; learning the geology of the Appalachians has given me new dimensions of story to explore in the landscape. I wouldn’t call it an oral tradition in its own right, but it has helped me in the past.

No matter how much I work, I know certain books and texts just do not open for me as Story in that sense, as able to transport me somewhere Now. I usually describe these kinds of things as academic or some such. But perhaps I more honestly mean, 'academic for me - cold and stale for me - no journey anywhere, For ME'.

Excellent point. I see the building perspective as really just offering self-delusions. You always dwell, whether you see it that way or not. Aspire to the gods’ eye view, and you only fool yourself. Like Quinn’s point in Ishmael that the fruit from the tree of knowledge doesn’t actually give you the godlike power to tell good from evil, just the conceit. So as much as science hinders itself by trying to pursue that gods’ eye view, it still emerges from dwelling, because it can’t emerge from anything else. Scientists, geologists, biologists, all dwell, all have perspectives shaped by their participation in the world, and all have become skilled in their own ways. I think we lost a great deal in pursuit of this paradox of building, but we couldn’t lose everything. So long as we exist, we dwell, so we could never lose everything, no matter how hard we tried.

So, in the grand project of resuscitating our humanity, we’ll find shards scattered everywhere, and each of us will, thanks to our own skills and the ways we have dwelled, have a keener perception of one area or another. We’ll each find different shards in different places, even some in the most unlikely places.

The danger of that geology text may lie in that, on its surface, you will learn the relationship of a conquering people to their un-honored place. The potential of that geology text may lie in that, you can ignore that surface layer, and go on your own journey, right now, deep into the earth.

Oh, indeed, but we see such perils and potentials all around. Even an indigenous story, even Prechtel’s story, pairs peril and potential: the potential you’ve already pointed to, yes, but also the peril of thinking we understand it better than we actually do. None of us here have ever dwelled in the traditional Mayan land, participating in the traditional Mayan life, the way traditional Mayans do–not even, in many crucial ways, Martin Prechtel.

We have no oral tradition of our own, no dwelling perspective of our own, developed from the relationship of our family and our land, so the shards we collect offer great potential, but always twinned with peril: either the peril of appropriation, and the conceit that we understand more than we do, or the peril of the conqueror’s perspective.

I think we can navigate between that Scylla and that Charybdis with care, though. If we always bring it back to our relationship with family and land, if we look to these for inspiration rather than the answers in and of themselves, tracks to follow rather than the Other we pursue itself, then I think we can hope to avoid those perils, and put together the potential they offer to rewild.

Or maybe a better way to put it, that story is as real as the tracks we leave in the earth?

So I see it from this dwelling perspective I’ve begun to look through.

There is no extra-reality mentalplane type-of-thing, in which they exist.

If I had to group all the major epiphanies that have rocked my brain in the past year under one heading, it would say, “The radical implications of actually rejecting dualism.”

Story-jamming!

Holy crap … you blew my mind, Willem. YES! Unbelievably fantastic! And I envy you viciously right now that you’ve found enough people to start getting such a thing off the ground. I’ve heard comparisons that drew parallels between story games and jazz before, but bringing it all together like you have really hits home.

Have you heard of the Rolemonkeys? I don’t think they think of themselves consciously in such terms, but they have a name for their band, and even release recordings of their sessions.

I cannot believe you didn't post a link here to Bone White, Blood Red

That would’ve made sense, wouldn’t it? Well, you’ve corrected my oversight. :slight_smile:

Only if you think science succeeds in its paradoxical pursuit of the god’s eye view. If it doesn’t, then, as much as that vain pursuit will hold it back, it still has to dwell and participate in the world, for lack of any other alternative.[/quote]

Well, in its Story world, I think Science does succeed in the god’s eye view. Doesn’t that explain why, knowing the Land makes us, dreams, us, that Science has created a landscape that makes a culture of ‘gods’, the urban landscape, dreams us as different and superior than the wild folks around us? The streets, sewers, sky-scrapers, all speak to our mastery and ‘different-ness’.

Maybe a cocky Land-spirit started this whole civilization mess by dreaming us into the world, so we would make more Land in kindred with its tastes.

Maybe a termite mound got excited and wanted to expand the project. :slight_smile:

In my own case, I found some seeds worth cultivating. What science could tell me about the eastern coyote filled in more than I could observe myself, and helped me appreciate our kinship; learning the geology of the Appalachians has given me new dimensions of story to explore in the landscape. I wouldn't call it an oral tradition in its own right, but it has helped me in the past.

Yes, this makes me want to stop picking at it the whole thing, at least in conversation with you. How can I deny something that so clearly created Life for you? I can’t. Full stop. End of story (so to speak). If I keep asking questions, and tell my story about it, I do it only because I remain so keenly aware of how the Science Story alienated, isolated, and turned me cruel to a loving, living world. But what the heck. My story, not yours.

So, in the grand project of resuscitating our humanity, we'll find shards scattered everywhere, and each of us will, thanks to our own skills and the ways we have dwelled, have a keener perception of one area or another. We'll each find different shards in different places, even some in the most unlikely places.

This does seem to capture the whole paradoxical situation well.

None of us here have ever dwelled in the traditional Mayan land, participating in the traditional Mayan life, the way traditional Mayans do--not even, in many crucial ways, Martin Prechtel.

Have you read the Disobedience of the Daughter of the Sun? And do you mean what I think you mean by ‘not even, in many crucial ways, Martin Prechtel’?

I think we can navigate between that Scylla and that Charybdis with care, though. If we always bring it back to our relationship with family and land, if we look to these for inspiration rather than the answers in and of themselves, tracks to follow rather than the Other we pursue itself, then I think we can hope to avoid those perils, and put together the potential they offer to rewild.

Well put. :slight_smile:

Holy crap ... you blew my mind, Willem. YES! Unbelievably fantastic! And I envy you viciously right now that you've found enough people to start getting such a thing off the ground. I've heard comparisons that drew parallels between story games and jazz before, but bringing it all together like you have really hits home.

YEAH! Man. You make me want to hunt down some Pittsburgh band members for you. Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match! You deserve this wonderful experience more than me, as you thought of the whole line of inquiry to begin with. Maybe we can get your Band rollin’ soon. Certainly, tell me if I can help.

Have you heard of [url=http://www.rolemonkeys.info/]the Rolemonkeys[/url]? I don't think they think of themselves consciously in such terms, but they have a name for their band, and even release recordings of their sessions.

Yes, and the Durham 3, and others! This certainly qualifies as a case of me pointing out something that already exists, and saying ‘holy crap! this matters! this creates life! and people already do it! let’s do it too!’. Which will hopefully start a whole STORY-JAMMING REVOLUTION.

Ahem. Sorry. Got excited there. :wink:

[quote="Willem"]I cannot believe you didn't post a link here to Bone White, Blood Red[/quote]

That would’ve made sense, wouldn’t it? Well, you’ve corrected my oversight. :slight_smile:

Haha. Don’t let it happen again! ;D

Have you read the Disobedience of the Daughter of the Sun? And do you mean what I think you mean by 'not even, in many crucial ways, Martin Prechtel'?

I haven’t read that one, though I have read some Prechtel, and he seems like the real deal to me, but even he didn’t grow up in a Mayan village. They certainly seem to have accepted him, and that gives me all the confirmation I need, but even so, he can never have the same experience as a native-born Mayan. I don’t think he claims to, either, but you could come away from his books thinking you understand more than you really do. Of course, just because Prechtel tread those perils well doesn’t say anything for those perils not existing, anymore than Tim Ingold’s expert navigation around Science’s perils negates their existence. Such skilled navigation makes them excellent guides down these paths, but that doesn’t mean the paths have no dangers. We have no shortage of plastic medicine men, and for every Martin Prechtel, we have a thousand New Age hucksters who think their crystal healing pyramids or some such count as “native wisdom.” The pitfalls throw us into significant peril in both directions, and we shouldn’t mistake either road for a completely safe one.

You make me want to hunt down some Pittsburgh band members for you.

Heh, actually, I came across my best lead in a long time just yesterday, so maybe I’ll finally get something rolling over here. We’ll see!

If this is going to dumb down your discussion then just disregard it.
Jason could you kind of sum up what you are saying in your last few posts in this thread, in sort of a “cliff’s notes” plain language kind of way. I’m finding this discussion very interesting but you two can leave me in the dust very quickly with a lot of the way you express yourselves. Basically you’re talking over my head but I’m interested none the less.
I think I may have something to say but I don’t want to respond if I’m not understanding what you’re saying.

Eh, no. :slight_smile:

Not to sound flippant, but you asked if I can, and no, I really can’t. I haven’t really digested it all myself yet, so I can’t really summarize it very well. I wish I could–it would make my life a whole lot easier all around.

Basically, in the building perspective, you have a mental image that precedes physical reality; blueprints before houses, genotype before phenotype, the written word “tree” before a planted tree in the soil, soul before flesh, and so on. In the building perspective, you create art. You paint to create a painting; you sculpt in order to create a sculpture, and so on.

In the dwelling perspective, the process of participating and actively dwelling in the world takes precedence. You never finish the shelter, because it always changes; genes may start your life, but you never stop becoming yourself until you die; each tree emerges from its participation with the soil, with other plants, with animals, with the weather and everything else. In the dwelling perspective, the performance of art matters. Painting or sculpting means participating with the materials at hand, a performance. You don’t perform art in order to create a painting or sculpture, any more than you walk in order to leave tracks. You can see it from how often they throw it away immediately after the performance; the sand painting immediately destroyed, the Inuit mask hidden away as soon as they carve it, or the Waputi painting hidden away right after. Maybe the cave art painted at Lasceaux where no one would see it, in order to trace the patterns from the living membrane of the underworld where the animal spirits live, setting the pattern and hoping to entice them out? That one we may never know for sure, but it makes a lot more sense of Paleolithic cave paintings than we could ever make from the building perspective, and that tells us something, doesn’t it?