I WAS looking for something to post and took down the book "Your Mythic Journey," by Sam Keen and Anne Valley-Fox.
A line of text caught my eye: "At least 51 percent of the people in a society are not self-consciously aware of the myth that informs their existence."
There are lots of pieces of paper in this book; rambling thoughts I had while reading it. I came across one set of scribbles that actually went somewhere. I might have been doing an exercise in the book. Here's what it says:
Where did I come from?
I came from a blind date - two people with separate dreams and myths, colliding in a world of joy and danger.
I came from Oregon - the mists, the rain, the grasshopper afternoons of summer.
I came from a small high school with a chance for a classical educations: Latin, physics, literature, music, chemistry. I came from "Peyton Place," "Lady Chatterley's Lover," True Story magazines and Mad Magazine. I grew up wondering what halvah was. I came from "Marjorie Morningstar" and Grimm's fairy tales. I came from Shakespeare and Dante.
I came from Dear Abby, crossword puzzles and early morning coffee with cream, oatmeal I couldn't stand, burnt pancakes on a winter morning.
I came from a small old barn with two cows, steaming in the cold morning, being milked by my father.
I came from a hide out in the scotch broom where I left my copy of "Alice in Wonderland." I never found the book again and to this day believe it was taken by the White Rabbit.
I came from a spring strawberry field on a steep hill. I would lie in the row with my head pointed down the hill, staring at the clouds in the sky.
I came from a house cluttered with the clothes and belongings of seven people.
I came from a family that had dinner every night at 4 p.m., listened to Walter Cronkite, watched "The Honeymooners" and Ed Sullivan, went to the beach often and sat in the car looking out at the rain and the ocean.
I came from a family that laughed, shouted, cried and worried.
I came from love - femminismo