The magic of a moving van. Of orange and white. Of doors ajar and boxes stacked. Of openings and closings and revolving doors.
Tony and Toni will be your guides on this journey, standing sentry, with secret slips of paper in their hands: here is the next word in the spell that will unlock the passageway you seek.
I could have walked by. I could have talked myself out of it. But that’s the first test, the Sphinx of the Self, and her question is always the same: How much do you think you’re worth?
Cerberus the three-headed dog must be faced, too, but more importantly, passed, and without a backward glance. Everything behind you has already turned to pillars of salt, to ash, to dust, atoms floating away to form the next new thing, the next paving stone beneath your foot.
Mother Holle lives in these crab apple trees. Will you shake them free of fruit and shake your body free of shame over all you hunger for?
Baba Yaga lives beneath this old stump. If you know what’s good and wild you’ll honor her with the death of all you used to be.
And here in the grassy gardens are Demeter and Persephone: you couldn’t ask for better teachers, so join these women at their work. Touch the soil. Call on Ariadne and weave yourself into this spell. Invite yourself into the house of gingerbread and make it your own.
You haul it, and in a moment, and all at once, the horizon will come.