Culture is that in which stories incubate, grow, live out their story lives.   There’s no other kind of culture.  Psychically, socially  — our lives are an environment, no more “alive” than atmosphere or noosphere.  What live in truth, in the way we believe ourselves to live, are the beings that act and breath in us — not what we call gods, but what we call stories.  To understand it, is like reimagining ecosystems as beings.   I can’t totally explain it yet. These things they live forever, in many cycles, while we deplete and replenish our flesh, language, and media.  There are those in whom great stories culminate — in great seizures of fame, crime, birth. . . .  Those people are the most “nutritious” made of the softest most fertile stuff, to receive the spirit, and keep it feeding.  Most of us are rank clay: home to the same story of birth, hardship, vanity, and death.

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