Often when I visit Oregon, there is a giant book on world mythologies that I borrow from my brother in law entitled “Mythology: The Illustrated Anthology of World Myth & Storytelling” edited by C. Scott Littleton. There is one line on the book that struck me: “…myths represent the heritage of the world’s imagination.” If we personify the world as having a collective imagination, and make mythology synonymous with that concept, then I think we can also say that mythologies are allusions to the collective subconscious. Stories of Odin’s self-discipline and sacrifice on the World Tree, or Rhea deceiving Cronus by handing him a stone wrapped in blankets to save baby Zeus, appeal to the multi-faceted traits of human nature. Through those stories, we can discover so much about human psychology and values, both the flaws and the virtues that permeate the actions and intentions of the collective and of the individual. So long as people are around to echo the traditional mythologies, or develop new ones, myths will continue to be an ornate reflection of humanity itself.
We continue to travel through a maze that has no end,
Sometimes turning left or right but never going back,
Towards a goal we feel deep down inside,
But that our eyes have never met,
No amount of fatigue weighs heavily enough to slow us down,
As our footsteps echo off the walls of the labyrinth.
When the cacophony of the mundane hushes,
And the lights that overwhelm your eyes cease to be perceived,
And the mind is no longer burdened by its own creations,
You are welcomed by profound darkness,
Embraced by its serenity,
And soothed by the echoes that fade slowly into the distance,
The faint residue of a world left behind.
My vision is set,
It is clear and still the same.
There was a time when you saw it, too.
And described its beauty with clarity.
But if your eye has shifted,
And no longer sees it also,
Then you and I will walk on different paths,
Going towards different visions.
I enjoyed hearing your footsteps so far
As we stepped towards a longed-for journey.
But our minds,
Like our lives,
Are our own dominion,
In which we choose our destination,
And forge our destiny.
I despise yet celebrate your impulse
To perennially chase the brightest thing that glitters,
And let your passion carry you to new experiences and crossroads,
Even if it leads you far away from me.
There will always be room for one more in my path,
If you ever decide to regroup.
As for me,
I must keep moving forward,
Towards a goal that has been waiting far too long.
Insincere love is the predominant element
Between those two.
Greater than earth, wind, water, fire,
The love with insincerity inundates their company,
And as the days turn to months,
The two forget their insincerity,
And leave it behind as they walk against the wind,
Into the horizon…
But in sincere love.
When the sign posts show you are going the wrong way,
The hills incline upwards against your journey,
And the wind pushes you away along your path,
You know that the world has conspired to hold you back.
But your goal is not optional,
Your vision is too clear,
Your dream is too lucid,
And your faith is too strong,
To be stopped.
You made a commitment to yourself,
That you would see it all through,
And even if you yourself want to quit,
Your word will happen.
If someone steals some money from you,
You can earn it back.
And even if your ideas are stolen,
More come forth from the wellspring of the mind.
But if your heart is stolen,
How can you ever get it back?
If your heart is broken,
How can it ever be healed?
We hate it when our things are taken away,
But we love it when our heart is stolen by another,
Even if it breaks in the process.