Christopher Vogler The Writers Journey
I took a few deep breaths and
could feel blood returning to my skull.
Instead of thrashing around pointlessly, I took in my surroundings and got in
touch with something ancient and instinctive in me, a reliable inner sense of what to
do in dangerous situations.
Just then, a voice came into my head, clear as sunlight. "Trust the path," it said.
I truly heard this, as a spoken sentence that seemed to be coming from a deep part
of me. But I smiled, scoffing at the idea. That's the problem, I said to myself. There is
no path. I trusted the Forest Service trail and look where it got me. I've been looking
for the path for half an hour and it's just not here. And in the larger sense, in the big
picture of my life, over a period of years, I had also lost sight of the true way.
"Trust the path," said the voice again, patient and true. In that voice was a
certainty that there must be a path, and that it could be relied upon to do its job.
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