My Wise Old Man

The thunderstorm moved through here in the wee hours of the morning when few are stirring except my ilk. I am transforming and well aware of it and at the courtesy of Mr. Rembrandt, I seemy vision of me in my tree house office and withdeference to Mr. Jung, I havebegun to slowly combine my hero image of my youthwith the emerging image of the wise old man in me. That’s mymyth and I’m kind of sticking to it. You see many archetypes are story characters and we all role play. Oh, the many games we play!

Myhero was and still isthe defeater of evil dragons and all sorts of monsters. I had a few dragons appear yesterday in various forms but I no longer always want to destroy them or engage them at all. Sometimes I tease them and other times want to send them on their merry way. The deceptive nature of some dragons and monsters no longer interest me. So I say on occasion to them,”Go in peace. But please, justgo.”I nowcravenobleopponents. You can judge a man by the quality of his enemies I am convinced.
In some ways,my herois the image of the self created ego I have long embellished.We all tend to identify with the hero of the story. The hero is, however, oftenquite stupid.He is, after all, ignorant of the ways ofthe higher order of things. He is overtly vain and quite romanticto those around him sincehe is often out to rescue the damsel in distress whorepresents that which is pure and innocent but alas who isoften naive. Ignorance may be bliss but it is still ignorance.And therein lies the conundrum.

The hero in me I am finding more and more is guided bythis wise old man in me whoreveals tomy hero, moment by moment, the nature of thatwhich he was previously unconscious of as he drew his sword, mounted his steed,andsoughthisdragons& rescued his damsels whilesinging “Those were the days my friend. We thought they’d never end!”

Well they did. And in his quiet and sacred place while the thunder claps late at night in the beauty of the darkness, the wise old man is never lonely when he is alone forhe sits in the council of God and all the sages of ancient days. “These are the days,” he sings and I find that even my heroes have heroes.

Hicks

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