
There is a place, a realm, a fancy, a state of mind, sense, country, and experience that exists within the imaginal spaces within my being.
It is a soulful place where reality is nurtured and the mysterious grows dense and tangled as an aggressive vine weaving its branches into every corner of my consciousness.
It’s a place where time is measured in experience not finite number. It’s the place where the dream of my conscious and unconscious selves meet and share what is real.
What is my, “mythopoetic” self? I’m curious to know.
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Mythopoetic: giving rise to mythology. We all create a myth of ourselves i.e., a story of ourselves that explains who we are, want to be, what our parents did or didn’t do that helped us to be who we are, the masks we wear around people to present the best us, and the one we wear inward to present who we want to imagine ourselves to be. It is our own creation story. It’s also a story that is being constantly written and revised.
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