Somewhere in my depths,
I felt the ego threatened by our inherent connection,
dragging the ill-equiped inner child into the light,
using her innocence and naïvety
to sabotage the potential.
Using her to serve ego's deep desire to be
the sole influencer of the self. Always afraid of being
the odd one out,
the third wheel to our soul and self.
The ultimate compliment it could give you is that you threaten it's existence.
Our inner children only know the shadows of Plato's cave. Fairy tale connections, ancient stories carved into the walls of our DNA.
The child fantasised knightly attributes that she cast on to you. When your movements didn't match her hero's promised unfolding,
the secret villain of every story, grasped her disappointment with revelry,
certain it could be mixed into the caves fire,
the alchemical ingredient to the undoing.
Ego stoked the flames into shadow-driven dances that fearfully played out on the walls... abandonment, unworthiness, rejection.
Gripped by the shadows and the portended death of yet another champion, she was unaware that it was her face, always her face, hidden within the armoured figure she sought. The clues etched deep into the gilded metal are a catalog of narratives depicting the heroine's journey. This engraved mural, beautifully traversing the sabatons to the bascinet, is a pictorial guide of proverbial dragons slain, all with her as the central figure.
Her "imagined you"
becomes a window into my wounds,
the physical you,
a fleshy backdrop for an ego's projections.
I hold her close, I lift, I clear, I analyse,
I lift, clear, analyse some more.
I feel a chill of metal pass over my cheek as my gauntlet caresses her tears.
Her story's arc resets...
we live to love another day.
The you that is your soul,
a hero in your own right,
is rebirthed from the ashes
with the promise of a potent fable to emerge,
lessons earned by our souls and inner children, always the mirrors, always the teachers.