My Writings

The Symbolic and the Literal

Such a simple gesture, an elementary move – to unmask the Literal and see it become Symbolic. And yet, some of us never come so far – to allow the water of legends to burst into your life, as you live it, day by day.

Now, the demons you slay are your very own. Bubbling up from your lower self, in the swamp of your own mind, unpleasant truths ferment and fester, their miasma rising, carried by the wind, poisoning your inner world. One day they reach your eyes, evident for all to see, but it is you who watches through broken lenses, wilfully blind.

Now, the journeys you take are the ones that lead within.  Lost in the woods, awash with emptiness and calm, you find nothing to eat. You seek a soul to speak to, but you are alone. You have come to a desolate place, there is nothing for you here. You have come to find yourself. To cut away the false limbs that reach out, blindly feeling out the surface of the world, grasping dreams and desires, and carrying them into your sanctum.

You have come, because it is easier to see what you are not. Now finally aware, you are ready to return with trembling legs, down the warm, even paths of the mountain. You see, the mountain of your dreams, you have trodden its easy paths day after day, until your feet became familiar to every rock, to every river stone.

Even those easy days, even those first efforts seemed insurmountable to you, once. Now you conquer them with ease. You cannot go back and embrace them, but they inspire you no longer. You only look upward, to the great Future that delights you.

But, you see, there are no demons, no journeys, no mountain.

At least, not in the gross sense.

You know of what I speak.


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