This is the second post in this series. Read part one here.

This past Sunday we had our second Ambiguous UpSparkle Story group at Occupy Wall Street. This time there were hundreds of people who came to tell of what brought them to the park, and to listen and repeat the stories of the others. There was something Greek and theatrical about this huge group of people repeating every line of every story. It was a story chorus. It took time in a culture and city where there is no time. It took attention in a world where we are trained to not pay attention. It required people to listen when people have stopped listening.

There was something so generous and receptive, as if the words, the stories were visibly permeating and engraving themselves on each person’s soul. No one could leave. It went on for hours. It was a feast. We were feasting on each other. Stranger devouring the stories of stranger. I needed to know the Burmese man with the camera who stopped filming to say he had been searching for an America that wasn’t like the oppressive silenced police state of Burma, and that he couldn’t find anyone he thought was free until he stumbled into Zuccotti Park. I wanted to wrap myself around the thin black woman whose arms moved her story into the air like a gymnast. I found myself smiling this mad smile as a young white woman who stood at the top of the stairs spoke her story and with each line became happier and happier as if she were about to fly.