On Pinterest, a photo of an open cottage door,
huge and solid oak,
is one . . . great . . . promise.
In my imagination, other singular promises emerge:
The tendril of hair escaping from a carefully groomed coif,
that one bit twirling down along the cheek
is an invitation, is life flirting with me;
The ivy that, in my childhood, came through
my bedroom window
and crept along the wall above my bed;
The moss growing on tombstones;
The rebellion in my heart—a consistent flower,
forever breaking through the civilized urban cement
that I too often adopt, mistaking it for morality;
The faerie road stretching before me—
I’ll find a bower along it that’s a gateway to another realm,
fellow travelers will delightfully mystify me,
I’ll meet challenges and dancing lights,
While gathering up gems and accomplishments;
The tumbled-down shining castle
where I will finally be safe
from betrayal, cruelty, and bone-wrenching disappointment.
Faerie tale images, all.
There is no place for them
except the open mind and heart
that wander from logical absurdities
to accept “once upon a time . . . ”
Then the adventure begins, it is your life,
the heart and mind are full.
After writing the above poem, I’m impelled to say: Want to live in a myth of your choosing? Take my next class, whether or not its description mentions myth. For upcoming class announcements, sign up for my free e-newsletter. Adventures begin when someone is told, “Now is your chance” and goes for it.