There are many people with stories yet only a few who can tell them. Not all nuts that fall to the ground become old trees. I have walked the middle of city sidewalks on the edge of the holy. Others quote passages from ancient texts to be acceptable and perfect.
Begin with the entrance of your family story or, perhaps, with the origin of giving thanks. Has the world changed that much? Can all be included in circles of trust covenanting to agree on the use of the public? What does it mean to place your personal history into a larger narrative that includes the Pequot Massacre of 1637? Or any other massacre or mauling, decreed or undecreed. Ask, Who's hand holds the other's hand, today?
I said, "The balance in my checking account has reached a new high." She replied, "Remember: narratives of aggregates always serve wealth." I agreed. "I am aware of the different storylines used by the storytellers." She added, "And the layers of power, hidden from most, continue to pull the children from their families." I asked, "What is the history in my particular landscape that tells where I am today?" She answered, "You were the minority when you arrived and, luckily, it turned out fine for you."
Ham radio conversations have morphed the story into internet bulletin boards where the temperature of ice in Iceland can be shared in real time with the beachgoer building sand castles in the Keys. Storytellers of the past share their best as any faith demanding this much explanation to a foolish person needs to be withdrawn from the public realm before too many heads are lost to the people erasers. Friends join and then withdraw membership taking all learning to bed by making white papers on topics esoterically rich while overlooking the reservoirs of luck and the stories written to blindly believe without thought. On gorgeous days when rain bubbles the pond surface and no one bothers to show up for prayer time even the turtles descend into their holes to avoid discovering the difficult way of sharing a story of peace.