writing for self-discovery

I watch Game of Thrones. Didn’t want to. Heard it was gory and violent. But I happened to see the first episode about a year ago. That was all it took. I was hooked.

I’ve tried to figure out what captivates me. Why the fascination with White Walkers, Wildings, the nasty Lannisters (except for Tirian), and beautiful Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons? Speaking of…wouldn’t it be great to have a couple of flying, fire-breathing beasts to call upon when you needed to make a point? Even a smallish one would serve the purpose if it could burp a little flame. She wouldn’t even have to fly.

None of the main characters in Game of Thrones do battle alone. Queen Cersie has an army, the Iron Islands have ships, John Snow, King of The North, has Wildlings, and Daenarys has her dragons not to mention thousands of savagely loveable Dothraki warriors.  

I usually don’t feel sorry for myself, but one day recently I got to thinking. When the chips are down, I’m really all I have. It’s not that others don’t want to help but my battles are with inner demons, and beyond lending a sympathetic ear (which is a comfort), there’s not much anyone can do.

As my mind meandered down that trail, one thing led to another.

I thought about fairy tales, white knights, genies and the like. How waiting for something else to be the answer is pretending I’m helpless. It’s casting myself into the role of victim, a part for which I’m extremely ill-suited, thank you very much. So I made a list of all the things that wouldn’t be showing up to help me and suddenly, with a little massaging, a poem emerged.

MAGICAL THINKING DEBUNKED

No white knight is riding to your rescue

Your kiss won’t make a prince of a warty toad

There are no magic potions to heal the heartache

No magic words or wands to smooth the road

No genie will appear when you rub the lantern

To grant your wish or bestow on you three more

The golden coach that should have come at midnight

Is a pumpkin in the field just like before

Good luck with the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow

Ali Baba’s thieves stole it years ago

And forget the sound of Santa on your rooftop

Rumor has it he’s gone south – can’t stand the snow

There’s only one thing sure you can depend on

In this crazy world of​ caustic disarray​ ​

Your own brave heart in bold determination

Will illuminate the path and clear the way

———————-

This poem reminds me that I am the answer I’ve been waiting for.