Storytelling and Stepping Beyond the Veil
By Vaughn Roycroft | February 18, 2019 |
Are you already wondering what I mean by “the veil”? Whether you’ve read my essays before or not, you likely have a suspicion. Do I have a ghost of a chance at keeping you reading if I admit that the answer is a bit metaphysical? At least till I’ve made my case? That’s the spirit!
It’s really not such strange talk for us, is it? We writers attach the numinous to the act of writing all of the time, even if it’s tongue-in-cheek. We speak of being touched by the muse, or hearing our characters speak to us, or capturing an idea before it gets away.
I’m not really going to ask you to take too great a leap from there. Rather, we’ll just be going one. Step. Beyond! (Any Madness fans? No? Ahem. Sorry.)
Déjà Vu, Too?
“At first the beauty of the melodies and the interwoven words in the Elven-tongue, though he understood them little, held him in a spell. Almost it seemed that the words took shape, and visions of far lands and bright things that he had never yet imagined opened out before him; and the firelit hall became like a golden mist above seas of foam that sighed upon the margins of the world.” –Frodo Baggins, experiencing Elven singing in Rivendell (from The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien)
My wife and I recently attended a one-man show called The History of Ireland Through Music, by Colm Keegan. During one of the more mesmerizing songs I glanced at my wife. She looked entranced. The lyrics were in Gaelic, a language neither of us knows. At the song’s end we made eye contact, and she whispered, “Had a bit of déjà vu, there.” I’d sensed something spooky-cool about it, too.
The moment reminded me of Frodo’s experience in Rivendell. So during the ride home I asked her about it. She told me it was a fleeting dreamlike feeling, almost like a glimpse at a past life experience.
I’m guessing most of us have these incidents. Some are more powerful than others, but not everyone is interested in examining them. They can be easily dismissed as simple trick of the brain, or synapses misfiring.
I, on the other hand, am fascinated by them. Because those moments of déjà vu—particularly the ones that feel like glimpses into a past life—are as close as I can come to describing my initial encounters with my story world. I hadn’t written fiction in many years, but day after day, session after session, this historical world opened before my waking eyes in a very dreamlike fashion. Characters came to me fully-formed, as if I’d known them all my life. The landscape was as familiar as my neighborhood, but I knew I’d never been there. The story unfolded for me as if I’d become its cosmically assigned scribe. Again and again I found myself asking, “Where is this stuff coming from?”
It was startling and yet spooky-cool. And addicting.
After over a decade of writing, I’ve since spent so much time in my story world that the startling aspect has worn off. But to this day, the spooky familiarity remains. My best story epiphanies continue to be the ones that feel like they’re retrieved from a glimpse into someone’s past life experience.
Or maybe I’m experiencing them myself by stepping beyond the veil.
Tolkien to the Choir
“I said to him once: ‘You broke the veil, didn’t you, and passed through?’ which in fact he did and to which he readily admitted. No wonder, therefore that he could recapture the language of faërie.”—Tolkien student and collaborator Simone d’Ardenne
Before I’d fully committed to writing about this topic, I wondered if those of us who write speculative are more receptive to the inclusion of a spiritual or metaphysical component to storytelling. I decided it’s likely more prevalent than that. After all, I suspect even the most ardent plotters among us have had instances of wondering, “Where is this stuff coming from?”
Before my wife’s déjà vu, I’d recently read an essay by Verlyn Flieger that had me considering the phenomenon. Faërie: Tolkien’s Perilous Land, establishes Tolkien’s well-documented belief in a metaphysical plane, adjacent to but separate from our waking reality. As it pertains to the reader, Tolkien coined the phrase, “Faërian Drama,” or “Fantasy with a realism and immediacy beyond the compass of any human mechanism. As a result, their usual effect is to [push the reader] beyond Secondary Belief.” (By Secondary Belief, I think he’s referring to what most of us call suspended disbelief.) He goes on to assert: “The experience may be very similar to dreaming. But in a Faërian Drama you are in a dream that some other mind is weaving, and the knowledge of that alarming fact may slip from your grasp.”
Tolkien speaks of storytelling’s capacity to be “a potion too strong” for the reader, causing us to give it over to “Primary Belief, however marvelous the events.” Thereby allowing us to see truths that lie beyond the veil.
“’They do not fear the Ringwraiths, for those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds. And against both the Seen and the Unseen they come to have great power.’
’I thought that I saw a white figure that shone and did not dim like the others. Was that Glorfindel, then?’
‘Yes, you saw him for a moment as he is upon the other side.’”—conversation between Frodo and Gandalf (from, The Fellowship of the Ring)
Even within his fiction, Tolkien’s characters often glimpse beyond the veil. He often refers to the hidden but true and extraordinary nature that surrounds us and is buried within us.
Tolkien also speaks of stepping beyond the veil as a writer. This particular bit strikes a chord for me: “They [story elements] arose in my mind as ‘given things.’ For it is not of course writing, but a sort of realized drama.”
From my first reading of Tolkien at age eleven I found his world familiar. I was prompted to venture beyond Secondary Belief. I Saw truth. I felt it in my bones. This was long before I knew much of European history, or legend and myth. Let alone knowing anything of Faërian Drama versus fairy tales.
Metaphysical or Intracranial?
“The world is, of course, nothing but our conception of it.”—Anton Chekhov
I’m sure there are many of you who felt no such realization, nor even any familiarity, upon experiencing Middle-Earth. I’m also sure many of you who’ve come to similar realizations or truths didn’t necessarily find them in secondary worlds, or historical ones. Some may not have found them even on earth, or among humans.
And I’m sure no few of you will roll their eyes when talk of Fae realms, or enchantment, or alternate universes, or even a transformed state of consciousness arises. But think about it. I’m no expert on the subject, but can you think of any human culture in history that had no such aspect to their systems of belief? Maybe there’s some common basis for the phenomena.
Maybe there’s a parallel realm, or unseen beings surrounding you right now. Or a potential altered state or higher consciousness you’ve thus far only glimpsed. Or ancestral memories stored in our every cell, accessible only through dreaming or some form of entrancement.
Or maybe it’s just all in our heads.
Freud said our conscious mind occupies slightly less than half of our brain’s potential. I’ve heard other numbers. Former WU contributor Meg Rosoff once claimed our subconscious was 90% of our mental capacity. There may be dispute about fixing a percentage on it, but there doesn’t seem to be any dispute that the subconscious is vast, mysterious, and largely untapped. So perhaps finding access to that vast, mysterious realm—the one lurking, hidden from our workaday perception in spite of being between our ears—explains what Tolkien refers to as “the veil.”
Maybe rather than a portal to a parallel universe, it’s nothing more, and nothing less, than accessing a veiled consciousness and capacity.
The Benefits Beyond
I have often written here about immersion in story—my ardent love of finding it as a reader, how it inspired my aspiration to write, and my desire to offer it as a storyteller. I’ve come to believe that story immersion is just another form of—or maybe it’s better to call it another means to—stepping beyond the veil.
Maybe it’s why Tolkien resonated for me. When his work nudged me to step beyond Secondary Belief, I found recognition. I found truth.
Which prompted me to seek it again, at first through my reading choices and then beyond that. I firmly believe this phenomenon is at the core of my writing journey. I was subconsciously seeking when I sat and wrote those first few lines. I Saw a glimpse, and I sought it again. And again. And, if practice at this doesn’t necessarily make perfect, it certainly yields greater success, if only through the sheer volume of attempts.
Flieger calls Faërie Tolkien’s Perilous World. It may indeed be perilous. Particularly for the characters found there, but also for those of us unwilling to accept what we find. I would suggest that resistance to seek or to dwell beyond the veil is widespread. And, for me, that’s a bit sad.
For me, my quest to step beyond the veil has yielded many rewards. I won’t lay claim to wisdom or to keener perceptiveness than those unwilling to entertain the concept. But because of my quest, I have gained an enhanced assurance, and a broadened outlook on life.
I have Seen there is light that does not come from the sun.
I Know there is strength in us that goes beyond the absorption and burning of nutrients.
Whether it’s metaphysical or intracranial, I believe that a soul-level breakthrough is possible for each of us, and it can be found on our writing journey.
For me, stepping beyond the veil causes my fears to fall away. When I am able to go beyond, however fleetingly, the absurdity of my doubt is exposed. After all, regardless of its acceptance upon this mundane plane, how can I doubt my revealed truth?
So you made it through? I suspect that means you’ve Seen or sensed your own truth. Or, you kept going because you hoped I’d get beyond wack-a-doo pseudo-science. Tell me in the comments whether you found a semblance of truth or just a wack-a-doo.
[Image is Welcome to Bag End, by Jeff Hitchcock @Flickr]
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
Vaughn, what a delightful post!!You know I’m with you here, 100%. My fist experience of Tolkien felt like ‘coming home’. I’ve always been on friendly terms with the numinous, thanks to my Scots-Irish grandmother and her insistence that people miss a lot by closing their minds. Oh, yes, and Disney. Those whitewashed versions of much older tales were my gateway into the world of Faerie, so by the time I found Tolkien, I was already living with one foot on the other side. I love your wife’s deja vu experience!! Those moments are, I believe, markers on the trail, soul-nudges meant just for us. And so are the stories and characters that make us ask ‘Where’d that come from?” I hope some day I get to sit across a table from you and talk Middle Earth turkey. Or even better, in a pair of armchairs by the fire at Bag End. Meanwhile, here’s to recognition of the veil. And to Hamlet’s pithy observation; “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Cheers.
Ha! I did know I could count on you, Susan. But thanks much nonetheless for your delightful comment.
I love the idea of those spooky-cool moments being markers or soul-nudges. That makes perfect sense to me. Hamlet’s observation reminds me of Blake’s: “Eternity is in love with the creations of time.” We’re time-bound creators, but I’m grateful for these glimpses at the eternal this journey has offered.
I am so looking forward to our armchair Tolkien chat! and I’m quite sure it’ll happen. Till then, thanks again, and cheers!
Ha! Recently one of the songs that’s been inspiring my writing is Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic. That being said, I guess I take Mulder’s stance in X-files: I want to believe. Morrison with his Irish soul can make me a believer–at least while under the influence of his musical spell.
According to what I’ve read from David Eagleman the neuroscientist, there is actually a spot in the brain that lights up when encountering mysticism. His theory is that we’re connected in our hard-wiring.
And then, there’s this piece I recently read by a Medium who explained the afterlife through Gertrude Stein’s celebrated: There is no there, there. The Medium claims our conscious exists without material restraints. Which I find strangely comforting as well as compelling.
What I do know:
My characters have their own evolving opinions…and my current story came to me when standing in front of a black and white photograph inside of Hearst Castle. The characters, who were not part of the photograph, but were triggered by it, spoke to me all the way back down the hill to the parking lot.
So, mystic or not, that photograph was some kind of connection, like your Gaelic song.
Is there a scientific explanation for this spiritual experience? Maybe. And maybe science and spirituality are two sides of the same coin.
Great post, V!
Hey B – Wonderful additions to the conversation. I suppose I’m in the Mulder camp, but leaning to believing there’s *something* inexplicable about these issues. I’m not privy, but I’m sort of grateful for that, too.
Your “two sides of the same coin” remark reminded me of Carl Sagan’s take: “Science is not only compatible with spirituality; it is a profound source of spirituality.”
Having read your work, B – whether you feel you step beyond the veil or not – you’ve clearly been afforded a view beyond. Maybe it just comes so naturally to you that you don’t even notice, or think it extraordinary…?
Thanks much for enhancing the conversation, my friend.
There is a phenomenon I have experienced, which I have mentioned in writing about the WIP, but which I suspect other writers have also had: the feeling that a particular story has been vouchsafed to us for telling.
That there is something special, both in the material and the writer, that says, “This story you must write, you and no other.”
It doesn’t take into account that you are neither ready for nor capable of the task, but assumes you will take care of whatever is necessary to become the writer who is.
It has sustained me through the past nineteen years, since I started Pride’s Children, through the publication of the first volume of the trilogy, and the work that has already gone into the remainder.
I suspect the validation will come at the very end, as the story came all of a piece. I know what happens at every step, and am finding out how and by whom as I write.
It’s an eerie sensation.
Hey Alicia, Oh how I love this comment. I feel the same about having this calling vouchsafed into my stewardship. Mine is not to question it. It’s to deliver it. And I agree about the validation, coming at the end if at all.
Thanks for this really insightful and important addition to the conversation. You’re so right that it’s sustaining. And Eerie! But there’s serenity in what you’re saying here, too. Wishing you the best with your output and your journey from here.
It is eerie, and part of the reason is that if the quest is yours alone, you can’t, in good conscience, abandon it. That’s a lot of pressure.
Most people who embark on a quest have a lot to learn, and don’t feel up to the task at the beginning – it’s part of the hero’s journey, and it feels weird to have it apply to you as a writer.
I hope I have acquired the swordfighting skills as I’ve gone: there have been fights.
I, too, felt that overwhelming sense of familiarity when I first read LOTR. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and I consumed the three volumes in four days. I’ve read it every year since (or watched the extended movies).
I have gone for years thinking that I must have read an excerpt of the story at school and forgotten it, and that was why it felt familiar.
Now, I don’t know. But you gave me a jolt, when you spoke of reading it and experiencing something very similar.
Excellent post. I’ll have to think about this…
t.
Hey Tracy, I’m glad I’m not alone. I agree, it was a sort of hair standing up on my neck sort of thing. I, too, tore through the books – fastest I’d ever read anything in my life to that point (a point that even made a big impression on my parents at the time).
Here’s to the jolts we get from one another that prod us to deeper thinking. And here’s to our truths and our journeys. Thanks for your kind praise and for letting me know.
Hi Vaughn–You are reminding me that while I didn’t read Tolkien until later in my childhood (and adulthood, admittedly), some of that transformative reading experience for me had taken place with several other books, particularly Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and a handful of Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books (Blue, Yellow, Lilac…). The Fairy Books were some of the only options in the fairly limited children’s section of our small town library when I was 7 or 8. I wandered about my neighborhood thinking perhaps there would be some amazing new world on the other side of the lamp post, or possibly if I walked in the right direction around the big old tree in the back yard. At the very least, since I never managed to find the right access point, I spent a lot of time imagining what and where it could be (the back of my closet?), and what I might find on the other side.
Thank you for the soul-nudge (to borrow Susan’s term)…this month I’ve been letting my imagination wander back into the more mysterious/fantastical end of the spectrum, and this is helping me to see that my wandering has the potential to come full-circle in productive ways.
Hey Alisha, Funny, but I didn’t get to Narnia until I was in my later teens, and I’ve often wondered about this. How could the adults around me see this kid who’d so loved LoTR not send him to check out Lewis? Anyway, I found my way there.
I didn’t ever get to Lang, but I do clearly recall finding Richard Adams on my own, and getting a similar feeling of immersion and familiarity. Not as strong as LoTR had instilled, but those first few really show you the way forward into other worlds, and – I think – begin to teach us about the veil and an ability (a gift, really) to going beyond.
Thanks for the great addition to the conversation! Here’s to letting our imaginations wander, and to that leading to productivity. Have a great week, my friend.
Thanks, Vaughn! I’m seriously remiss in my Adams, admittedly, and I’ll have to go back and fill in. As for Lewis, my parents got a collected Chronicles and read the first few books aloud to my younger sisters and me, so they were there for me to keep going. :-)
By the way, I’m only half-way through, but I’m really enjoying Philip Pullman’s Daemon Voices (essays on storytelling). Lots of lovely food for writing thought there.
Ooo – thanks for the recommendation. I enjoyed reading Pullman (again, as an adult), but didn’t even know about Daemon Voices. Ordering now! Thanks!
This is a brand new concept for me. I’ll need to think it through. I’m writing my first book now. The veil will be an interesting challenge!
Glad to have given you something to ponder (always good for writers). Thanks for weighing in. Wishing you the best on your exciting new journey. Here’s to interesting challenges!
I guess all Fantasy readers are whackadoos then, and Fantasy writers more so. ;)
My love of Fantasy is very much centered in world building. I tend to refer to reading certain books as “visiting” the places where they take place, somewhere on the imaginary plane.
When I started writing my Goblin Trilogy, I found it amazing how the details of the world fell into place and especially how the characters, as you described, came into being fully formed, as if I had just met someone already in existence!
Back stories, histories, everything just clicked together. What was meant to be one novel became three so that I could follow up further generations.
I have another world forming now, sparked by a short story I did for an anthology of Fantasy stories. I can’t wait to see how it manifests!
Oh cool, Jaq – I envy you, starting that new world, seeing it unspool before you as you explore. Wishing you many happy meetings with those already in existence beyond the veil.
Thanks so much for reading and sharing. Onward!