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The Welsh word for grammar (transliterated as grammeria) draws upon a sort of quantum spirituality, in particular, that of the ancient Celts. The prefix, gram, is related to “song.” The middle, mer, is related to “water.” Water, in Celtic spirituality, always speaks to birth and nurture. Thus it is the task of grammar to give birth and nurture to what is born. Grammar, according to Celtic spirituality, gives birth to, and nurtures, language. Language and song, in Celtic thought are interchangeable; language takes its meaning from its sound. There are three strains to be found within sound, according to the ancient Celts: peace, sorrow, and joy.* These are the three primal emotions. The task of a story is to give rise to these emotions in the one who is listening. When this happens the story truly becomes the listener’s story. Further, a story has no value, according to ancient Celtic thought, unless it gives birth to, and nurtures, new stories placed within the context of, and claimed by, the listener.

Each and every story contains, contains other stories, each opening up, if we but see and hear, potential and possibilities for even more stories, stories hereto unknown. In classic Newtonian logic, the observer is always a neutral and objective external agent. In quantum logic, the observer is always involved in the process of observing, and will in spite of efforts to the contrary always influence the eventual outcome. I just stated this linearly, but what we must grasp is that the eventual outcome is not fixed, not even singular, but rather has the potential to be one or more of many possibilities, perhaps even hereto unobserved.

Every story has a backstory, middle, and end. In quantum storytelling, it is the middle, not the backstory nor the end that is important.

Our brain perceives in wholes, not in parts. For example, if I look at a house, not only do I see the house, I perceive the entire geographical/situational context, likewise, with the story. The story is innately perceived not in pieces, although that’s how it objectively unfolds, but as a whole. When we perceive wholly, everything is put into context. Within this context, there are other stories perceived subjectively. For example, what’s the deal with the old beater in the driveway next door? In the context of looking at a house, these other stories are not the beginning (when we first see the house), nor at the end (when we make an objective conclusion about the house), but the middle. These specific “other-than” observations are subjective and may come into our mind after the fact (at a later time after we have made our objective conclusion). The natural result of the mind processing the “whole story,” i.e., the quantum story.

A couple nights ago I listened to a commentary by the writers and actors of the HBO series, The Wire. What became obvious as I listened was that there was more at work here than simply a storyline. The storyline unfolded in such a way as to make the viewer want to know the untold story of each character, and of the environment, with the goal that these untold stories, would mesh with the story of each individual viewer. Most importantly, there was the desire on the part of the writers and actors that these “new” stories would become the seeds of new, hereto undiscovered, solutions for the societal ills depicted by The Wire.

A story is nothing less than a conversation between the storyteller, the story itself, and the hearer. In a very true sense, there is no story unless there is someone to hear the story. Further, the story will die unless the one hearing continues the story by telling the story to another … Storytelling is not only cyclic; with each retelling, the story becomes a new story, told in a new context.

Everything begins as a conversation. Everything continues as a conversation. Continuing conversation give rise to new conversations. It is in the assembling of conversations where brand-spanking new ideas find birth. It is telling the story that starts the conversation.

The Latin word for a tablet or story is tabulatum, “a layering of vine.” Here is the histological concept of storytelling, each story weaves upon another to create a dense vine of one melded story. Layer after layer, melding upon melding, until we reach today, yet today’s stories contain the seeds of tomorrow’s stories— seeds of solution.

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