The Fool begins Her Journey
"The greatest of journeys begins with a single step." Would this quote be the root of my undoing, or would it be the beginning of another glorious adventure for me to learn from? No sense in dithering about that now. I am standing before the door I must pass through to truly begin.
It is a door, like any door; except that it is sturdy and old-fashioned. It reminds me of the doors in the house I lived in back in Oregon, solid hardwood with gracefully arched trim on the thin part of the panels. It isn't painted, it is gleaming with varnish, the brass handle shiny from use. I know this door, and don't fear what lies beyond. It was through this door I fled when a life gone painfully awry became completely unbearable.
There is a difference now. I am not thoughtlessy, heedlessly trying to escape, now I am conciously choosing to walk through the door and see what lies beyond calmly and in depth.
I know that beyond lies the ocean of dreams, where I have floated serenely. I have eaten from the tree af fantasies, the times life felt loveless and unbearable. My path was guided by constellations of ideas on a sky of shifting colours, like those of the Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis.
What will I see now, when I am expected to look deeply, and report on what I see here? Will I have the words to say what lies across this threshold?
Pye and Skye snuffle impatiently at the crack at the bottom. I reach my hand out to the handle, there is the tiniest arc as skin contacts brass. The cat's tails fluff and their eyes widen.
The door opens smoothly on gleaming, well-oiled brass hinges, the hinge-pins looking like the towers of minarets or Greek Orthodox Churches. As it swings open Pye and Skye stare at the vista for a breath, whiskers trembling as they sniff excitedly.
The air wafting towards us is rich with the perfume of the earth, dew on new-mown grass, the beach slumbering beneath a midsummer sun, the scent of growing things and the Circle of Life.
Through the door we three go, stepping in unison to soft grass and just the right amount of sunshine. The cats look up at me, their gazes saying, "I KNEW this was within you, you are too catlike for it not to be!"
I laugh and scritch one pair of shoulderblades, then the other. "I know kitties I know. Where do you think I learned to look at the world with 'new' eyes? Now, we are to seek the Cave of the Enchanteur? Our spirits shall lead us there? Non?"
Pye takes our lead, the crook in his tail pointing the way.