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So, relax, get comfortable, and picture this: it’s a gentle, fragrant Springtime night, where the dark that has fallen is glowingly pierced by the generous flames of the village campfire. The firelight is so bright, you can see the faces of all who sit around in a circle, and even the faces of those who sit behind them, and behind them.

It’s a full house.
A crowded theatre-in-the-round under the stars, 5400 years ago.

All are well-fed, laughing with knowledge of one more day lived without being eaten, a day in which food was aplenty and the children grew strong. As long as the men of the tribe could keep up this successful round of hunting and the women could continue to gather the fresh fat berries that larded the land around them, what more could a tribe ask the Spirits for? They had that bright yellow glob of warmth up in the sky every day, and plenty of firewood to keep them cozy into the night.

What more dare they wish?

Something .
Something was missing.
They all enjoyed each other ‘s company , and this time of peace had lasted so that all were relaxed around each other. No one coveted anyone else’s plot of land or wife. So, why this unfamiliar unrest?

They were bored.
A concept so foreign to these people, they’d yet to invent a word for it. They were usually so busy staying alive, they’d no time to sit around and wish for more.

But here they were.
Should they sing? Get up and do a tribal dance? Go to bed early in their stoney caves?

Suddenly, quite without warning, Otzi (later known to scientists worldwide as Otzi the Iceman) stood up in the front row and went to stand as close to the fire as he dared, pinning each individual with his penetrating gaze. The warmth in those faces felt good, familiar, like home.

His eyes shone with a sort of wet energy, he felt a flutter of wings in the pit of his stomach, his mouth dried with the night air as he opened it to make sounds. Those sounds were not quite words yet, but they were familiar to the tribe, sounds they made every day in an effort to communicate.
Sounds that conveyed meaning.

And tonight, those sounds conveyed emotion as well.
Not sure what emotions actually were (a gift from the Spirits?) the entire tribe sat spellbound as Otzi dared to open his mouth and talk loudly enough for all to hear…he wanted all to hear… it mattered to him that all hear what he wanted to tell them:

The Story of That Day’s Hunt…..by Otzi.
Excitement, exhaustion , strain, breathlessness, fear, terror, happiness, relief, exultation, victory pride…..words would come later, but feelings lived in their Now…..feelings filled the bodies of those in the circle, burst into the space between the crowd and the story teller. The night air filled with sounds of response. Rough hands slapped together. Applause was born.

As the curtain of night air rose, a story emerged that connected them all, creating a bond hitherto unknown, and Otzi felt the power of his daring solo action. He was not Chief ! How dare he call attention to himself? He was merely one of the tribe’s hunters, though acknowledged as one of the better hunters, yes.

But the moment he stepped forward in front of them, Otzi was more.

As he played out, sound by sound and movement by movement, the story of how the tribal hunt had proceeded that day, he became their entertainment, the object of their fascination , their star, their hero.

The first television.

Someone back in the crowd began to draw on nearby walls: lying out the journey of how man overcame beast, and in the general gathering, an odd yearning for planting crops and popping them began to grow.