The Fool

I snapped back to the present moment, laptop in hand, face red and puffy.

That royal metaphor fired another connection in my brain, linking together my childhood street name with Nemo's innocent eyes and some kind of mission my soul had apparently embarked upon. The connection then nose-dived into the archives of my memory, encircling a Rumi poem I had once read.

Proud Scholar
step down from your summit
fall in love and become a fool!
Become humble like dust
walk with everyone
good and bad, young and old
so one day
you may become a king.

Was that it? Was being a fool part of my quest in this dream world we call reality? Was I actually completing some mission, without even realizing it?

Nemo's words struck me again. Are you the Queen?

The Queen. The Queen. Hmm... wasn't royalty a Jungian archetype representing mission and purpose? Maybe that's what the metaphor meant? Maybe I'd accepted some mission, and I'd need to become an archetypal Queen to complete it. Maybe I'd need to integrate my King, Warrior, Magician, and Lover archetypes to truly find my purpose here.

Yes, that felt like an exciting idea. Yes, that felt like an adventure. I could get on board with that challenge. Maybe that's what my soul was trying to communicate?

Or maybe it's all just confirmation bias; random. My ego reared its ugly head, offering up an explanation that would keep me safe and well-liked in our society of blind materialists.

No, Wisdom whispered. I'd given up on the idea of 'random' long ago. Logic didn't support true randomness. This dream world spoke to me in metaphors and symbols, like a trail of clues leading me on a quest in an adventure game. Everything seemed to have a deeply hidden order to it — even my depressive episodes. I felt like I was unusually creative when I had some kind of raw pain to express in words.