How about grandfather stone tells him ONE story, and when the tale is done, grandfather stone tells him to take the stone with him to remember the story.
The next day, another stone speaks to him, and tells him another story, he takes that one too. Soon he has a bag full of stories.
You could take carved stones and run them in a polisher so that they vaguely resemble the original carvings and are "cloud shapes" that suggesat the object rather than an exact representations.
OR
The bag could become a story tellers "medicine bag", a few bones some stones a couple of feathers a twig or two, an insect in amber, a braclet, a necklace...
now you have your story stones combined with prop justification, all carried in your own little switch bag...

Nice guys, thanks...
Well this is a rendition of a classic. I posted this in another topic but its sure to make a lovely addition of a 'ruperts pearl' to the bag. Enjoy...


Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate in his own beauty. He was so fascinated of himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called narcissus. But this is not how the story ends. When Narcissus died the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears. "Why do you weep?" the goddesses asked. " I weep for Narcissus, " the lake replied. " AH, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus, " they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand." "But…. Was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked. "Who better than you to know that?" the goddesses said in wonder. " After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!" The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said: "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depth of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.

by Paolo Coelho.

O.K. guys bear with me on this next one because I am one for the visual. How better a way to start this act than this next video. I almost pee'd my pants when I saw it and I know those who have been following this thread are gonna love it.
Imagine this, you emerge magically into the clearing, and approach your audience, - a small intimate crowd of unsuspecting picnickers are gathered, eating cavier and sipping ambosia. You step forward and call forth the story stone...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5UwZvwUkss

Here's a story I heard many years ago and I've searched for it for quite some time, I finally found it. It somewhat applies to the Bag o' Stones theme. There are some nice magical possibilities here.
_____________________________

The Parable of the Pebbles

It was a beautiful day and the young man was walking along the path admiring the wonderful scenery. He was on his way to the rich city that lay beyond the three valleys. Many people in his village had talked about this city but none of those who had ventured to it had ever returned to confirm the stories of its greatness.
The first valley was a picture to behold and the grass was so green compared to his old village, which was now a day’s walk away. The valley had a small stream running through it and there were many flowers along its banks. They were small and pretty flowers, bright pinks and reds, with a fantastic scent.
He sat and took some bread and cheese from his small knapsack and enjoyed his simple lunch in these beautiful surroundings. While he ate he let his mind wonder about the rich city. After lunch he continued his long journey.
As night fell he reached the edge of the second valley but it was too dark for him to appreciate its beauty. He opened his knapsack and took out his blanket and settled down for the night. He dreamed about the rich city and how much better his life would be for moving there; it was a long and good dream.
As the sun rose the next morning the dawn chorus of birds in nearby hedges and trees awoke him. The young man stretched and put away his bedding and let his eyes drink in the splendor of the second valley, which was far more fertile and colorful than the previous valley.
He walked to edge of the small river and saw that there were fish in it so he set about catching one for his breakfast. Having cooked and eaten the fish the young man walked across the river and continued his journey.
After a few miles he saw an old man asleep at the side of the path. He asked the man if he needed any help. The old man was very weak and his reply was short - “I am beyond help but thank you. I will give you some advice though – Collect as many stones and pebbles as you can before you cross the next river.” The young man was puzzled and asked “Why?” but could not get an answer, the old man had gone back into a deep sleep. The young man continued walking.
Why should he collect stones? As he thought of possible reasons he noticed two or three little pebbles in the path so he picked them up and put them in his pocket. This was a long road and every now and then he picked up a few more pebbles. His pocket was beginning to get heavy and he had no idea how much further he would have to walk. He decided that one pocketful of stones would be enough as he would tire himself too much if carried more.
Hours later he reached the third valley that was very lush and had a wide river running through it. The river was not very deep, perhaps waist high, but the current looked strong. The young man braced himself and crossed the river. He struggled against the current and almost slipped on two occasions when he would surely have been washed down river and perhaps drowned. He finally clambered up the other bank.
He rested and then carried on with his journey. After an hour or so he put his hand in his pocket and realized that he still had his pebbles. He pulled them from his pocket and could not believe his eyes – they had all turned into jewels!
The young man wished he had filled all of his pockets and his knapsack with stones and pebbles, imagine how rich he would be now! It was pointless to go all the way back to cross the river again, he would waste too much time and he could even drown if he tried to cross the river again.
He carried on to the rich city only to find that most people were poor, as they too had failed to heed the advice given by the old man.
Listening and learning is like collecting pebbles; it may seem worthless at the time but who knows when they will turn into precious gems or golden nuggets.

What a fabulous topic thread! I am LOVING the suggestions and my mind is just clicking with new ideas! Storytelling magic is what I do, and there are so many applications for these wonderful stories!

Yes, I do realise that this post by this time is old, but I just came across it at the top of the section. Leslie: That is a beautiful, wonderful idea!

I think in the right sense, it would work very well with groups of adults too. Thank you for sharing this.

I have been greatly inspired by the stories offered here ...

so, I add this one -- not that you can perform magic during the telling, but that many have said the story itself makes them understand magic ..

CYCLES


The man could not be distinguished as young or old, just sitting there on the jut of damp beach. Everything about seemed gray, as often the way of this place where the clear stream meets the fan of ocean foam, but not desolate until he came. The patch of sand there was alternately swept by stretching ridge of dying wave, then next by a surging from the narrow stream in an attempt to hold back the moon. His life seemed to have no more purpose than to melt into the gray, to be one with the timeless struggle.

“You should teach,” they all had said. “You really have a gift. People love to hear you speak and you know so much. Everyone needs the help you can give.” So he attempted to tell what he knew and instruct people about the folly of their ways and the chaos in their lives. He showed them a better way and talked of truth and discipline and the need to prepare for the harsh winter of their intellect. Most turned away and even laughed. Even those who became inspired lost interest when he could not give all of the answers. “If they didn’t want answers what did they want? If they have no desire to learn what is there for me to do?”

Even on the shadowed beach there were distinctions amongst the gray stones and the man began selecting individual pebbles for their uniqueness of shape, shade or unnamed appeal. “This represents what I know,” he murmured to himself. “If I had to select one to give away, how would I choose without knowing the reason or purpose for the choice?” And he thought long on this revelation until the tide had all but buried the stones. It was only then that the man noticed the young boy at his side but sensed somehow that he had been there a long while. The child picked up a single stone from those he had not himself been able to order and handed it over, saying, “This one, I think, would smile more in a mountain brook.”

The man’s life was changed that day and he no longer tried to teach. Instead he shared stories about leaves caught in swirling eddies and thistle-down being confused with the stars. He talked about the simple things he knew and let each man select for himself anything of value. When pressured to instruct or give advice he would say, “ask instead about the smile of a stone.” Then he would share a tale, or ask questions as in a riddle.

“When a child succeeds to the top of a granite boulder is it not futile to point out there was a surer path, or to describe how you had climbed a bigger rock in your youth? Would it not be better just to ask, ‘what do you see from up there?” and share a new view of the world.”

“When a man attempts to show affection for his wife in the giving of a rose or the remembering of a date is he not trying to ‘teach’ her how to love? Would it not be better to create an atmosphere of affection and in the words of Moses, ‘let thoughts distill like dew?’”

When questioned over the problems of teaching the youth of today and even the impossible task of instructing adults in manners of health, safety and salvation, he would rub the stone beneath his cloak. He would question back, “Does new technology that has made it possible for someone to teach themselves destroy the atmosphere of learning? If everyone is now a teacher, who is the student and what is the lesson?”

The man became a wanderer in mind and of land and always carried that stone close to his heart. He came to know that Indians revered great rocks as sleeping lonely people waiting for someone to sing to them. He learned many things but found few that were powerful enough to teach, or risk the pain. He spent time on the streets with the desolate and helpless, and found there also people waiting as great stones for a song that would teach them how to live, but who had lost the ability to learn. But his own world became rich in color and vibrant hues with flickering lights and laughing children. He felt a kinship with all men and a peace that comes from letting feelings ‘fall as gentle rain on tender grass.’

He came across many who would teach the way to God and learned much when there was an atmosphere of growth and search for truth, but felt betrayed when told that learning was not his choice to make. Did not, Merton, the greatest scholar of our time, say before his death, ‘What we have to be is what we already are?’ In his learning the growing man taught himself many things and knew that it was the search for a suitable spot to place the ocean pebble that drove him on. As the man grew older and wise he constantly asked himself, “When Christ said ‘give up all that you have and follow me’ is it possible this instruction had nothing to do with material things. Is not the failure of teaching that it must be combined with pride, arrogance and even deceit?” He learned many things about himself that could never be taught to another, but also knew there was no greater joy than to see something clearly and to share that inspiration with another. “Is that not enough?”

He came to listen to the whispers of yearning spirits and found profound thoughts in unexpected places. Profound knowledge may come from great books and anguished scholars, but wisdom comes from those who have lived! Years are less important than passion and intensity, for in fact, peace of spirit and self doth strip years away. He came to listen in the market place of mothers of many children. He came to listen to those who worked with their hands and molded God's gifts into tools of men. He listened to the artist, the street performer, the children's minstrel show attempt, and the poor poet in the smoky tavern. He learned simple truths like, "never doubt in darkness that which you believe in sunlight." His betraying pride and hubris slipped away when he discovered that, "there is nothing noble about besting another. Nobility is wrought from being better today than you were yesterday." Long years became reduced to appreciation of seasons, weeks of commitment, days of fulfillment and moments of joy. At length his anguished search came near to end with the words of an aging priest at an outdoor mass, "unless the pilgrim carry with him the thing he seeks, he will not find it when he arrives." Peace! Surrender. Find innocence.

One day the teller of stories felt courageous enough to climb to a hidden glade and sing to the silent pinnacles. He rested there in a shady glen where most everything was green, as often the way of such a place where the reflected light from pacing stream yearned upward to dance with the bright light from above. This interplay created an illusion of motion as if a breeze were blowing that gave life to every stone and fern and wayward leaf. The array of subtle colors was astounding! And then he knew! He tossed his lifelong friend into the glistening pool and heard its laughter above the tinkling of the spring. He mused again over his life and selected a different stone from the tiny shore and listened to the song of the wind that wasn’t there, but only in his heart.

The particular spar of sand on which he had sat many years before was gone with the shifting time; but the mixing of water about his feet was magic; the salt with the fresh, the birth of life with life’s renewing. The rocks that sheltered the cove shown in a hundred shades of blue and teal and dove and black. The moldering sky teased with the light and let an occasional ray break through to pierce a green-gray edge of falling wave. In a brief azure sharing, a tiny fish could be seen trying to learn how to ride the crest. A mountain found stone fell silently from his hand.

The woman stood alone in grief and kicked at the tumbled pebbles along the beach. “Why, why she wailed? What is the meaning of it all? Can’t someone teach me how to survive?” Her despair was such a force that all reason and hope were driven from her. “Teach me. That is all I ask. Please teach me!”

A child came close, selected a colored stone and pressed it into her hand. “Would not this stone smile more in a mountain stream?”

Funsway, this story is amazing. The words have a flowing poetic beauty to them.

The read was very magical indeed.


This thread has opened my eyes to new paths yet to be traveled.

Thank you all.

hopefully I can continue to learn and evolve, become worthy of the title story teller.


KOtah

Silvertounge, In response to your earlier post about turning this idea into a complete act, I think that is very possible. The most straightforward way to do it that I can think of is to start with a brief story about how you came to possess this bag of strange stones. Perhaps it was inherited from your great great grandfather, who was, according to family legend, a genuine wizard (or shaman or whatever you feel is appropriate). According to this legend, each stone has the power to grant a particular type of wish. For example, this stone (displaying the one you want to associate with wealth) is said to grant the user great wealth. Let's see if it works. (Do any effect that actually or symbolically demonstrates the magical accumulation of wealth (money, jewels, gold, etc.). This next stone is said to grant the user great fame (great power, great mental skills, great ... whatever). Lots of room for chosing a variety of goals to associate with the different stones, and lots of room for chosing effects to illustrate how the stone helps to magically attain the desired goal. I wouldn't worry about needing to do an effect with the stones -- although vanishing them at the end (or just making them "invisible") so they won't be stolen, might be a good ending.

Revving this thread in hopes of more stone stories to be added. I’m collecting some special stones that are really magical looking and have made a special box. I imagine these could be combined with a simple reading using Enrique Enriquez’s “Invisible Gemstones.”

Once upon, …….. a man had to make a long journey across the desert. He set off before dawn, full of vigor.
But as the sun climbed in the sky, a hot wind moved across the desert floor, and the man began to feel tired. And the man heard a voice in the wind. And the voice said, “Pick up stones and carry them in your pocket, and you will be happy and you will be sad.”

The man said, “My imagination is playing tricks on me. What a ridiculous idea, to carry more weight than I have to." He ignored the voice and he hurried on.

At mid-day, the man was exhausted. His steps were unsteady, and sometimes he stepped off the trail into the cactus on either side. And the man heard a voice in the cactus, and the voice said, “Pick up stones and carry them in your pocket, and you will be happy and you will be sad.”

The man scoffed. “I must be losing my mind. No one in his right mind would carry extra weight on such a difficult journey.”

By mid-afternoon, the heat of the day was almost unbearable. The man’s feet dragged heavily and he often stumbled. His hands and his knees were cut where he had fallen on the hard ground. And he heard a voice rising from the sun-baked earth, and the voice said, “Pick up stones and carry them in your pocket, and you will be happy and you will be sad.”

And the man said, “All right. All right. I will do anything to stop the voices.” And so he scratched at the ground to loosen a few small stones and put them into his pocket. And as he went on he felt the extra weight of the stones... but he heard no more voices.

At sunset he came at last to his destination – a pretty village with a running fountain. He revived himself with delicious food and drink. And that evening he sat on a bench under a pleasant tree and recalled his journey.

And then he remembered the stones. He reached into his pocket and pulled them out, and indeed, he was happy and he was sad. He was happy because the rough stones that he had scratched from the ground had turned into diamonds. And he was sad because he knew he could have carried more.

On the journey of life, the challenges we accept, the good work we do faithfully, the responsibilities to which we remain loyal – although they may at times seem like burdens – like the rough stones that turn to diamonds – these are the things that give true value and meaning to our lives.

Wow this is just beautiful, so perfect and I can actually perform this with what I already have! A change bag, small pebbles and plastic gems from the craft store...simple and I can get the kids to put the stones in the bag!

Yes. Although I have not put it into performance myself, that is just how I imagine I'd do it.