The only story - how the telling of the story was possible. The only one: that tells of the strength that it drew on to begin, the 'merciful surplus' of which Kafka writes. There are those in whom words fall like rain; they think with words, ordinary, innocent words, and do not know their interruption. But when the words, for the most part, do not come? Or when they bring with them a trail of silence, a kind of residue of the interruption that allowed them to arrive?
The Persians, according to Herodotus, made every important decision twice: once drunk and once sober. Is there a kind of decision that belongs to silence, to that murmuring prior to speech and from which speech cannot awaken? It must be followed by a second decision that breaks from that murmuring, and wakes up. The second cannot decide against the first, but rides it. And that is the story you might decide to tell: how the strength to begin was given to you, a decision flowering within a decision.
The strength to tell is borrowed. And the strength to decide? A fold of telling within non-telling, of writing within its impossibility. It is writing that is drunk, not you. But it is also writing that is sober, and not you.