Although the world is increasingly secular, myth still makes up the lower strata of the psyche. Swiss psychoanalyst Carl Jung believed that we carry “primordial images” in our subconscious inner worlds out of which we make meaning of our external experiences.

The opposing viewpoint argued that the mind is at birth tabula rasa, a blank slate that is molded by experience and environment. Whatever the case, it is undeniable that myth and symbol play a role in our day to day lives and our culture, whether we are conscious of it or not.

The myth I’d like to begin with…

My grandmother would not allow her daughters to wade into the ocean past their knees.

My mother would not allow her daughters to take a photo perched atop a fence overlooking a valley below, for fear that they might fall.

My great-great grandmother grew up during the Great Depression. Her mother died while she was young. She raised several siblings. She grew into a strong, steady woman, a rock for her family.

Her daughter, my grandmother, lost her father when she was two. And so my great-great grandmother did it all alone all over again. She already knew she could.

…

Many of us have a sense that the world-as-we-know-it is not tenable. It is unstable. It is faltering.

As a solution, some focus on the accumulation of wealth as a way to better secure their positions on what is an increasingly fracturing foundation. This gives us a sense of control in an increasingly disordered world.

Some of us may be in the uncomfortable position of realizing that this solution is not actually a solution, but an emotional salve like the deployment of nitrous oxide as the plane goes down.

Still fewer of us, when faced with this reality, choose not…

A lifetime spent navigating my gender and struggling for womanhood

Six

When I was six years old, I decided I was beautiful. I looked in the mirror and saw long, lean legs tanned by sun, a face framed with golden hair. I saw piercing blue eyes and a tapering chin.

Everything I had seen and heard told me that these things made me beautiful. This meant I was safe, that I was going to be loved.

I was always trying to make friends with the boys because I had learned that they were smart and strong. I wanted to be like…

A Series

What do we want to lose the most?

It’s cold this morning

and I hear the trees’ limbs cracking

But I can’t be sure if it’s rain

or the rustling of the leaves

brushing against each other

because it rises and ebbs

like the wind

or indecisive clouds

Are the trees ridding themselves of morning dew

or abandoned rain,

or a memory of their solitude?

In the pitch of night they spent before

blind of each other

Though in arms’ reach

A Series

Bill Collector

The bill collector came over today.

He asked for mother

She wasn’t home.

He said he’d come back another time.

All dressed up in a business suit

Are you trying to hide in there?

Your silver tie shines

but your eyes are dull.

Please put your blade away.

We like it clean in here.

And he flipped a coin, which I caught

said, “Thanks for the tip.”

A Series

Potted Plant

You have been housed

In this landscape of society

Music and culture

and the well-bred

Elaborate and intricate

At his feet, the women sing

Praise and applaud

his honor

Do you have anything at all to do with this?

Maybe you are just a decoration

But then the porcelain cracks;

Your salvation!

Part II (Read Part I here)

I spent a few days in Rome before I made it to Berlin. I wandered the city alone, taking photos of the various Piazzas and churches, and being hounded by aggressive Italian men calling, “Ciao, bella.” It was the first time I wished I had a man with me.

Cold In My Bones

I arrived in Berlin feeling relieved to be anywhere else. Maybe this city would help me come back to myself, help me get out of my head, and give me some fresh perspective. …