Story Hunger

A Story is Always a Metaphor that Tells a Truth of the World

Dear Patient Readers,

Time has been difficult to measure this month. My heart has been beating too fast, and my breathing is still irregular. I have what is called air hunger. It’s telling of privilege that the term made me understand the desperation of hunger for the first time: the physical requirement.

My shrink tells me all of this is likely related to avoidance mania. First avoiding any complete thoughts about the new lumps in my breast, and then avoiding facing the responsibility of — no, the obligation of doing something with the reprieve. I’m still NED (no evidence of disease). So that means I’m supposed to get busy and make a difference in the world, right? I feel guilty that I haven’t already begun.

There’s the whole of the world to take in from the news apps. There’s my insignificant story.

That’s an excuse. Nothing is insignificant. I think it is a matter of picking a small story and focusing on its metaphors. A lace bug turns a leaf into a network of lines as ornate as your capillaries. A wasp takes the lace bug, saves the azalia, feeds her larvae, infects (with one yeasty bite) the grapes that will ferment into wine. Dionysus celebrates: dressing the drunken Pentheus as a spy. And his mother tears him limb from limb. His exposed bones like the vascular bundles of the azalia leaf. Agave sees her conquered lion.

Lions eat the offspring of the previous alpha. Infanticide. Yes. That story.

Sometimes the world seems like a dark circle within a dark circle within a dark circle forever and ever, amen. I think I have a story hunger. Stories that will make sense of the things I know.

Saturday I ran on the beach. Every beach run is a memento mori. I don’t know how to explain why it makes me feel calm. The beating of the waves. The screaming birds. The dead jellyfish, birds, crabs, fish.

And the absurdity! Saturday, a pineapple was left by the tide.

Funny that being that close to all the death, brings me back to life.

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Thank you for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject—please consider sharing them in the comments on Substack. You’re welcome to link to your own relevant post.

I’ll be back next week with a new poem.

Warmly,
Ren

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