Earlier this year I called a Story Circle on the theme of Gratitude. I got a lot of very touching responses, which I took with me into an intuitive storytelling session. The story that came, however, led me through a fascinating (and not always comfortable) journey with gratitude itself.

The problem was that I didn’t much like the story. It seemed too simple, too obvious, restating things that others in the Story Circle had already expressed. It didn’t move along in a compelling enough way. I was hoping for a better one.

And yet the message of the story made me pause. It told of a farmer who grinds a meagre living from his land, forever complaining about his lot, who one day discovers another farm nearby which is thriving beyond all imagination.

How could this be so? The other farmer is working similar soil, in a similar climate, and yet his farm is like a paradise.

His secret? Gratitude.

By being thankful for everything that comes to him, he has recognised that almost nothing that happens on his farm comes from his own efforts. Rather the soil, the sun, the rain, the animals and the plants are all hard at work, while he simply directs the flow of abundance all around him.

So although I wanted to throw this story away and ask for another, I couldn’t help noticing my similarity to the first farmer. I chose to be open to what this story was trying to teach me, and went for a run.

And out there in woods, splashing through muddy puddles with my dog, what came to me were several structural improvements to the story that allowed it to flow along in a more engaging and satisfying way. When I came home I sketched out a much-improved story.

But I’ve never worked like this. I’ve always had a rather deferential approach to the intuitive stories that come to me. For years I would tell them once and once only. No retellings, no reworkings, no improvements. It was only recently that I started retelling these stories, but even then my editing process was very light handed, out of a belief that I was so much clearer and more intuitive when telling/receiving them than I could possibly be when reworking them.

But in recent years I’ve had to admit that most stories need reworking to make them really shine, and it’s possible also to be intuitive while doing so. There’s a craft to making a really good story, and it’s a miraculous thing that a writer can do – travelling the timeline of his story, changing little details like a God, so that what emerges is a thing of wonder.

Big budget movies nowadays often have a whole team of people working on the story, and it really shows. Creating a strong and compelling narrative is as demanding a task as creating a beautiful and durable piece of furniture.

So this story taught me to trust myself even when not in the semi-trance of receiving an intuitive story. It taught me that I can also be intuitive when I rework the story, even to the point of making significant structural changes. It helped me recognise that almost nothing in my life comes from me alone, and that a deeper abundance is the cause of all that I experience, and can create.

The key is humility, and gratitude. Thinking that I am in charge is what causes the beauty and wonder to vanish to the corners of my life. Recognising that I am the recipient of a miracle, the unfoldment of which is almost entirely out of my hands, allows the reality to shine forth: abundance is everywhere, only limited by our complaining.

You can find the audio recording of the story here.

Best wishes, from Leo.