Something Wicked This Way Comes

All the world’s a stage,
and all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances.

Enter the gatekeepers.

They make promises that sound real but aren’t.

They speak in just enough clarity to keep you hopeful,
but never enough to move you forward.

They hold tight to their secrets;
how to source,
how to build,
how to breathe life into a dream, and create a tangible being

The little bells and whistles 

The things you know you need yet only they are the purveyors of such trinkets

You believe them.  You have to because you don’t know how to do it without them.  

They hold you in a spell of frankincense and myrrh, while you become heady with visions of hope that are oh so close but ever so slightly out of reach

The gatekeepers are persistent.

They draw you in the way a blackjack dealer does in Vegas.

A little tease.
A little promise.

Just enough to make you think, this time, I’ll win. This time I'll touch my dream.

But you don’t know the game.

And if you did, you’d know Vegas wasn’t built on winners.

And dreams will stay dreams until you free yourself from the omnipotent gatekeepers.

But here’s the problem.

Beware! The gatekeepers take on many forms and they are masters of smoke and mirrors.

So what are you supposed to do?

You choose to stay. 

You play a little longer and breathe in the cloud of opium they offer.  You are addicted.  The gatekeepers are winning.

You lose a little.
Then a little more.

Until finally you open your eyes and realize if you don't get up from the table and free yourself from the gatekeepers, you will lose everything, including your dream.

Somehow you find the strength to walk away.

You don’t look back.

You clasp your hands over your ears,
shutting out the siren’s wail of the gatekeepers

Their chorus of empty promises.

Step by step, your stride grows stronger.

More certain.

Until their voices fade
and then disappear altogether.

And just like that your head clears.

You begin to remember.

Your purpose.
Your direction.
Your dream.

You don’t know exactly what’s waiting for you but you know it’s not behind you.

So you walk.  You walk 500 miles and then you walk 500 more, just to be the one who walked 1000 miles to fall down at your Portuguese door.

Enter, Portugal

Susan