Every year I tell my daughter a story about the road of life. It is an intuitive story which shapes itself as I speak my slow way through it. I never know how it will go until I say the words aloud.
Simply put, the structure of the story is this: a metaphorical road leads a child from the warm and loving home gradually into the world beyond - to meadow and river and harbour city - as they grow up. The changing setting reflects their spirit and experience each time. In many ways, this story benefits a mother as much as it does the child, because in the way of stories it offers insights that normal contemplation never quite manages.
After a very long time of telling this story, I myself learned something this year that I hadn't really understood before. I was enchanted and inspired, and I appreciated that the wisdom had to unfold for a few years before it was really to be told in words -
There is no road. It dwells inside you, all along.
Some people walk interesting streets and sail away towards horizons. They're excited about going - going - like a child who runs to the top of a hill and wants to be now in the world they see stretched before them. But these people, they're not really going anywhere. The ones who make a true journey are those who know to stand with their feet in their own shadow, their eyes turned up to their star, their hands and hearts open to the dream of their own inner magic that will take them far beyond any mere places.