My inner foot soldier, the part of me that rolls out of bed and marches to the office each morning, resents our job. She defends her right to resist and complain, but I tire of it.

As a child, Memorial Day brings visits to the cemetery, its grassy green fields blanketed in silence, winding paths, and strange stone markers.

At last, so many years after the event, I find a coherent shape—a redemptive shape—for this difficult memory, and it satisfies me.

Many people recognize we live in times that shake our highest values and deepest sources of meaning to the core.

Write? Today? Impossible! I’m stuck. Under water. Inspiration eludes me. Am I to make something out of nothing? While I lament my creative poverty, a wiser voice comes to the rescue.

Catching an archetype as it acts within one’s own consciousness builds more consciousness. The reward is increased choice, greater freedom, and deeper connection to oneself.