Friends, coworkers, heck the whole world now, is obsessed with arcing content into fame online. Blog fever and social media are partially to blame. True, we get most of our news, glam tips, and health research from the Web. So in this digital reality, shouldn’t we also expect to publish anecdotes of our own that could change lives, perhaps some person’s we’ve never even met?

Looking to the classics, elements of story closely align with life, death and the struggle to exist. Oral tradition forged meaning within communities through old fashioned conversation and mythic education. The Odyssey, an epic Greek poem written in dactylic hexameter, was first read aloud or sung. Many Native American and Aboriginal stories, also shared out loud, are snapshots of a tribe’s morality, ethics, and right behavior.

Though it’s tempting to deify the past, I suspect ego entered their social fabric, too. How well a story is told probably earned points and political leverage. Some things absolutely stay the same. But the difference now seems to be that we’ve aggravated the arc – and the joy – of simple story telling.

Perhaps “joy story” void is due in part to an over-saturated marketplace. With content playing king to marketing campaigns, it’s no surprise that some content serves to titillate rather than truly engage our deeper sense of social inter-connectedness, pain, and hunger for meaning. While story is as alluring now as it has always been, today it’s more fractal fast-food fodder and less mind-altering, soul-stirring message. Sociologists, what’s up with that?

For actual, lasting Joy of Story, we need a seat in the circle. First, we need a circle. With iPhones aside, let’s chant into dream space together and re-enact the myth of slaying a dragon or staving off famine. In this story, the beast might be our failure to find joy in pixels and famine the utter isolation of empty texting.

I talk about wisdom keepers a lot. I like how The Moth, Ignite and Ted keep the art of storytelling and wisdom sharing alive. This is digital content democracy – good stuff and new communities unite. Blogs also give us a way to keep the art of story thriving. As we blog, we become wisdom keepers, too.

When you’ve got multiple balls in the air, not to mention clouds of economic gloom to contend with, staying positive can be a real challenge.

I know this struggle first hand. As an artist, Reiki healer, writer, event planner, consultant and volunteer, I often feel torn between getting it all done and stopping to smell the roses.  And I am not alone.  Read more >

I’ll admit to it. In reading my new book, ‘The Hearts of Horses,’ by Molly Gloss, her language is inspiring me just a young frost’s nib. I am reminded of a dozen years ago when language and me were conspiring together like soul mates do, rather than the little conquests that preen my portfolio of late.

Gloss’s book, and the other I just finished, ‘People of the Book,’ by Aussie expat Geraldine Brooks, rekindles a lost poetry for words. I guess art has a way of surfacing when our breathing slows and our presence situates itself in the earth’s fertile vastness and hears, after years of missing it, the nautical beat of our ephemeral pulse.

So now I burn to touch a horse’s snout. From the distant, open expanse of the West, a freedom song beams my way, like a fire dance echoing in the mind. I am there, as quickly as I close my eyes and dream. My horse, shall we call her Ellie, bends down and nudges my shoulder, asking for sweet talk. I answer with a stroke and pat along her broad, strong neck. Soon, we’ll head out together and chase the sun.

This simple act of communing with animals is part of what makes us human. We are like chameleons of nature, seeing through to the souls of creatures with whom we coexist–if we’re looking with ancestor wisdom. Horses may not comprehend our inner struggle, but when we make eye contact with them, a relationship is born. Perhaps it’s empathy that makes it so.

As for horses, part of the wonder for me is their sheer power–a strength and fortitude that elevates them to something magical, beyond this world. Mix with that a grace of movement, personalities on par with dogs and people, intrepid speed and daring and you’ve got an archetype that easily makes history.

At any time, horse captivates the imagination. Especially now, during a period some are naming the ‘Great Recession,’ horse beckons to us. Call on the horse to inspire your natural power and return to wild freedom. Remember, the horse, as all animals, does not judge. She simply acts how her spirit and nature impel her to, moving ever-forward. As we bond with her essence, rather than ‘break’ her bronco side, we discover that together we channel our dreams into little miracles and the world is richer for it.

When your head is full of greenish yellow funk, the world just looks different. The concept, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” has a whole new meaning. You’ve been there, I know.

I heard about this “notorious head cold” but, honestly, I felt untouchable. This was a naive, in denial, head-in-clouds oversight, I now admit. Just a few days previous to contracting the crud, I was thinking how oddly, refreshingly, effortlessly lucky I had been in totally avoiding the rumored nastiness. In fact, I felt great! Energetic, ready for spring (who isn’t!), making new business connections, smiling a lot, installing some art, even working on a new series of paintings. Wow. Things were rolling.

Then, literally, within 2 hours, I could feel a creeping up the back of my neck. After about 3 hours, I began to lose my voice. The next TWO DAYS I had NO VOICE at all. A week later, this pernicious beast had transformed 2 or 3 times and now attacks my eyes. Yellow crusties film my eyelashes. I know, gross. My nose runneth, My throat and glands swell like wet rags.

Yes, the world looks different when your body stops you in your tracks. Okay, it kind of sucks. Yet something else emerges when I pay attention. There is a sense that I’ve actually been awarded something very special, almost sacred, a state of being in which time, slowness, and shadow gazing take over. Think: Slumdog Millionaire wins worst cold ever. It’s magical thinking.

I move more slowly today because if I tread at normal velocity my head spins and phlegm surges. This is an excellent motivator to halt, assess and dive in deep. I find myself carving out buried treasures stuck, perhaps for decades, in the far reaches of my psyche. It’s like excavating missing pieces of myself. Such “tasks” don’t normally make my “to do” list. It’s kind of dizzying in a calming sort of way. Digging out layers of your soul requires altered consciousness. Are you following me?

I realize I have a choice here. I could curse the world for this massive inconvenience called ‘The Crud.’ And I could opt for sympathy gathering. But instead, I am searching for beauty.

This brings up an interesting metaphor. The world, in the form or our economy is suffering perhaps it’s worst head cold in 80 years. Many industries face near collapse. Mom and pops on “Main Street” are going under if their niche isn’t recession-proof. Print papers, like the Rocky Mountain News, stop the presses after 150 years. The fallout is historic and full of nastiness.

One silver lining, akin to said inner journey via flu onslaught, is the birth of a new social humility. Co-ops, community building, barter and trade, and new ways of imagining economic health surface in nostalgic wonderment. I personally attest to this. Instead charging a client for one of my services, which is how I, a student of our established (and now crumbling) socio-economic system, typically conduct business exchange… I offered to do a trade: my marketing services for his home contracting services. It’s working like butter. He gets a marketing booster shot and my spare room gets a cosmetic facelift — just what the doctor ordered.

But I am not alone in reviving the beauty of the barter in these rough times. Recently, the Wall Street Journal’s article about the trend to utilize trade transactions, instead of money, is a real wake-up call. Not only are small-to-medium companies turning to barter at higher frequency, experts specializing in setting up bartering relationships are growing in popularity. Check ‘em out: NuBarter.com, FloridaBarter.com, TrashBank.com, PeopleTradingServices.com, CareToTrade.com, and BarterQuest.com — are just a FEW (there are tons) barter and trade folks out there.

This remarkably simple way of sharing resources and co-creating success through barter is an ancient practice. Indigenous people, of which we were all once members, traded as a way of life. This idea seems new to some us today because we’ve existed with money and credit for so long, but it’s as natural as seasons changing.

A somewhat unique, though not entirely innovative (as they invoke time-tested intentional community methodologies) collective that “banks time” as a way of swapping services is the Echo Park Time Bank. Their premise: “For every hour you help another member, you earn a Time Dollar. Then you can use that Time Dollar to have a neighbor help you.” Is this the future, again returned to us from the past? Either way, this form of co-existing, and engendering cooperation and sweat equity, is on the rise. Sign me up.

Futuristic visionaries might describe our societal fate as Western hubris imploding on itself. As our armor of self-importance thins, we get back to basics: being human without building empires. So we’re learning to share again.

When I worked as a Web Marketing Specialist for Oregon Health & Science University, my supervisor (who I viewed as more a mentor than a boss), warned me about “empire builders.” I wasn’t exactly sure then what he meant, but years later, and a few bruises withstood, I get it. Here’s one way I would define empire builders: Anyone narrowly interested in their own gain and in furthering their ego and desire for personal power without regard for others.

Are ‘empire builders’ the culprits that sunk us down the eco drain in the first place? Let’s face it, we all wouldn’t mind having a couple of million and a beemer in the drive. Perhaps this is why the virus hitting us today is so severe: we’re being challenged to gaze beyond stuff and discover meaning in new ways. We’re seeing empires crumble and some of them are our own.

And then there’s Bettie Page. The notorious Bettie Page. On the surface she was pin-up queen, most natural soft porn seductress of all time. Yet, her fame was a product of illusion. Hungry eyes feasted on her glossy images, but behind the veil she was as innocent as Tennessee. Wearing sassy costumes (or going nude) was simple play-acting. She didn’t even drink alcohol. As she approached middle age, she disappeared from public eye and her legend grew. Seems her notoriety worked wonders.

This brings up perspective again. How and what we see makes our reality. Some saw Bettie Page, the illustrious sex symbol. Perhaps others knew a girl-next-door in search of herself. Maybe she got “the head cold from hell” one day and realized that pursuing religion was her next calling. Either way, she changed direction.

Today, it feels like the whole world is changing direction. Maybe this is a good thing. Whether it is or not, it’s happening. The wheels are in motion. Meaning is shifting and we’re returning to a fresh way of seeing. The million dollar house next door has solar panels and feeds its plants recycled water. Change is here. My head cold is waning. My eyes clear to a new day.