For years I held on to what I thought was a shameful secret. Watching the Wizard of Oz for the first time as a child made me cry because I believed that the "Good Witch" was really more wicked than the "Wicked Witch".

How could this Blue Bubble Thing with Too Much Glitter be good? She didn't say anything about how awful it must have been to lose a sister, much less having that sister become smashed by a house! For the Green Lady with the Big Nose and the cool (although crooked) hat to simply want her sister's shoes? And then to have people yell at her? I nearly lost my mind with grief when the Green Lady with the Crooked Hat and the most excellent flying monkeys melted, exclaiming, "What a world ..."
It was at that point I'd had enough of the clunky tin man (who was a weirdo anyway) and wasn't that crunchy scarecrow actually more terrifying than anything in the movie? I was certain he had motives regarding that adorable lion. The lion wasn't safe with any of those creeps. But I digress, when the supposed Wicked Witch was doused with a pail of icky mop water I stood in the middle of the den screaming in horror. I was pretty inconsolable for a few days.

My brother laughed at me, I do remember that. I also remember thinking that his GI Joe was going to disappear inside some pail somewhere very soon, and wondered if it was okay that I wouldn't have cried if my brother was smashed by a house, which I did not articulate as well as I probably could have in spite of being five because the laughter only increased. I kept my pain to myself then, creating new and improved versions of how I'd save the sad green witch without her sister.

It turns out that someone else had that idea too. Gregory Maquire wrote Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West" (the link is the permission/attribution to use the image) and reading it in 1995 was somewhat cathartic. My "secret" became a bit more complex though.

I had grown up to discover that being a caring, decent and compassionate person was how I had been taken advantage of by the moochers and the users in my world, most because I'd been raised by the protagonist for Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (remember, my Mother is a Tomato) and I could always see the good inside any monster. In fact, it's my super power. Well, praying the darkness away is also my super power (feel free to purchase a t-shirt HERE) however the two go hand-in-hand. Honestly, sometimes I think that the courier angels for the Great Big Is And Ever Was were taking care of me during the "praying the darkness away" portion of my gift ... how else would I have survived? I've asked myself that many times over the years, and it was only until last year that I revealed my "shameful secret" in a workshop at the last Labyrinth Society Gathering. The facilitator turned to me and said, "You've really been on that hero's journey, haven't you?" It took tremendous strength not to roll my eyes. Hero Schmeero. My journey wasn't so heroic. Was it? I have spent a year pondering my bizarre attachment to my Survivor's Ego.

So what is the big effin' deal about the Hero's Journey?

As a Jungian Analyst, I incorporate symbols and images into my practice to assist my clients through their own journey. It wasn't until this weekend that I came face to face with someone that I feel I should have known more about all along, Dr. Jean Houston is my new Spirit Animal. Her book ─ The Wizard of Us: Transformational Lessons from Oz ─ is now a brand new addition to my library.

This thoughtful, layered guide offers new understanding of the human condition, the importance of myth, and the critical nature of our role and how we can participate in the creation of a better world. The Wizard not only calls us forth but he has called forth the journey itself. It’s time to uncover your inner hero and become the essential human you were always meant to be.

Dr. Houston delivered a powerful and incredibly moving presentation as the Keynote Speaker at yesterday's gathering for The Labyrinth Society. Her deeply involved work with the Dromenon (as she calls the labyrinth) moved me to tears.

"At last!" I thought, "there is someone who understands the world through my eyes too."

When she spoke of how exhausting writing is (yet she's written 33 books) but how she found inspiration while cooking, I was less afraid of presenting the beginning of my journey as a hero in a kitchen with a killer tomato. My story can be a recipe for survival in these times of cocooning & compassion, and beyond. It was important though, to remove the final (and fatal) scourge of my own skepticism. It is a big deal to survive this life that I've had.

It is a big deal that any of us does manage to survive the lives we've had with our minds intact and still seeking goodness. Still seeking better recipes. Still knowing and expecting a better tomorrow and actually doing something to make that happen for ourselves and others.

My dromenon labyrinth is about walking with the intention of creating happy endings and happy beginnings. I realized quite abruptly when listening to Dr. Houston that the hero doesn't become a hero at the end of the journey. The hero always was a hero. It doesn't do anyone any good though if the story is never told.

My cape is actually an apron, by the way. You can find me in the kitchen. So, congratulations on being heroes all you gentle readers and writers. Go be big, remember to be awesome at all times. And keep telling your stories.