The Journey (With apologies to Carl Jung)

There once was a man (or woman) who set off on a journey. It was the journey of his lifetime, the one his parents described throughout his childhood, and he was as excited as he was apprehensive. He had been told there was a home waiting for him, but he wasn’t sure where to find such a home, what would be involved, or if he had what it would take to get there.

As he began, he was pleased to see a crowd of people making the journey was well, and he fell in among them and followed. The way was clearly marked, well lit, and the path was neatly groomed. The man found that he hardly had to think at all. There were signs along the way promising a spectacular castle ahead, and he was sure he was headed in the right direction.

Those around him offered an occasional nod or greeting, but everyone was focused on the journey. At times, it felt a bit like a race, and he became determined to do as well, if not better, than the others. There were checkpoints along the way, where each traveler was tested to see if he or she could proceed. Those who passed, celebrated and continued on their way. Those who did not, were asked to wait until they did, and for some that judgement was too much to bare.

What began as an exciting adventure for the man, slowly became an heavy burden. On a path full of people, he felt more and more alone.

Sitting on the side to rest, he sighed: “There has to be something more. Maybe this isn’t the right path.” A sudden gust of wind brought refreshing encouragement. It was just a hunch, a still small voice within,  but it seemed to suggest there was another way, another location to which he could (and maybe should) head. The problem was, there was no path. He had to make his own. 

As he set off, others from the path called out: “Where are you going?” “Don’t do that.” “You’ll get lost.” But he already felt lost, so he continued into the woods. It was much harder work to make a path than to follow one, and, more than once, the old path looked inviting.

He eventually noticed others cutting their own paths and was delighted and comforted when they invited him to their campfire later that night. Gathered in a circle, they shared their experience cutting paths, their strength from such work, as well as their hope for what lay ahead.

In the morning, they all continued their work, only to meet up again at a different campfire. One day, he came across a wide stream he couldn’t cross. He was good at bushwhacking and clearing a path, but he didn’t know how to swim. Fortunately, he remembered advice from one of the campfires: call out for help if you need it. He did, and before long a chain of people was formed and, together, they crossed the stream.

There were days when he wondered if he would ever reach his destination. He wondered if there was even a “there” to reach. But rather than turn back, he carried on and found a cabin located in a clearing off to his left. Approaching slowly, he came and peered through the window. Much to his amazement, he saw a man kneeling at an altar. The man was him, and although he didn’t know it at the time, the prayer being offered was that he would have the vision, strength and courage to find his way to the cabin, his true home.