I have the feeling that all stories travel with an understory.

The words of Ali Smith, spoken with the quiet certainty of a storyteller, pierce to the very heart of narrative: “I have the feeling that all stories travel with an understory.” This is no passing observation, but a truth as old as myth itself—that beneath every tale lies another tale, beneath every telling a shadow, a whisper, a hidden root. The surface may charm, entertain, or instruct, but the understory carries the deeper pulse, the hidden wisdom, the message meant not only for the ear but for the soul.

From the earliest ages, the ancients understood this. When Aesop told fables of foxes, lions, and crows, it was not to amuse children alone, but to reveal truths about greed, pride, cunning, and folly. The outer story was simple, but the understory carried the weight of moral law. Likewise, when the poets of Greece sang of gods and heroes, they were also speaking of the struggles of mortals, of the fragile line between hubris and humility, of the eternal questions of justice and fate. Thus Ali Smith reminds us: no tale stands alone. Every tale bears another, hidden yet inseparable.

The meaning of the quote rests in this layered nature of human expression. When a mother tells her child a bedtime story, she is not only soothing the child to sleep—she is planting seeds of courage, kindness, or wisdom. When a nation tells its myths of founding heroes, it is not only preserving history—it is shaping identity, values, and the sense of what is possible. The outer story may seem harmless or small, but the understory is alive, carrying unseen power to shape hearts and societies.

Consider the story of The Trojan Horse. On the surface, it is a tale of cunning and war—a wooden beast hiding soldiers within. But the understory teaches of deception, the danger of unchecked pride, and the vulnerability that comes when men accept gifts too easily. For centuries, leaders and generals have recalled this story not for its surface alone, but for its deeper lesson, applying it to politics, war, and even daily caution. The power of the tale lies in its duality: the seen and the unseen, the outer shape and the inner truth.

Ali Smith’s words also remind us that the understory is not always deliberate. Every time we speak, every time we recount an event, there is more beneath our words than we intend. The way we frame the past reveals our hopes, our fears, our wounds. The tale of a victory carries the understory of the sacrifices that made it possible. The tale of loss carries the understory of endurance, survival, and meaning. Stories travel with us not as flat objects, but as layered companions, unfolding truths even when we do not realize them.

The lesson for us is this: listen deeply. When you hear a tale, do not take only what lies upon the surface. Ask yourself—what does it conceal, what does it reveal, what roots lie beneath its branches? And when you tell your own stories, remember that others will hear not only your words, but also the understory of your heart. Live, therefore, with integrity, so that the hidden roots of your speech bear good fruit in the souls of those who listen.

Thus, let this wisdom be passed down: every story is a journey, but every journey has hidden paths. The wise are those who see not only the road but the secret trails that branch beneath it. In life as in storytelling, the truth is not always on the surface. Seek the understory, honor it, and let it guide you. For in the end, it is the unseen that gives meaning to the seen, and the hidden tale that gives eternal power to the spoken word.