Walking Beyond the Priest and the Power

 by P. Glenn

We were given fairytales once -
childhood myths told at bedside,
wrapped in wonder and whispered in delight.

But something broke down.

We were supposed to grow into deeper stories,
not out of them.
The myths should have grown up with us -
not vanished at the door to adulthood.

Instead of a world alive with meaning,
we were told:
Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work you go.

And the myth, once breathing softly beside us,
was replaced by something colder -
more efficient, more rigid.

Then came the priest.
The one who systematized the story, codified the metaphor,
turned myth into manual and fire into formula.
Still, the priest may have meant well -
seeking to preserve what moved hearts,
to keep the embers from going out.

But then came the power.
And power doesn’t protect stories.
It uses them.

What was once told in circles was carved in stone.
What was once sung softly was shouted from above.
And when the Power and the Priest teamed up,
even the Parent - the original, humble guide -
was cast aside.

Presence was replaced by proposition.
Invitation replaced by obligation.
Mystery replaced by mandate.

The parent once said, “Walk with me.”
The power now says, “Obey me.”

And the child?
The child, now grown, begins to feel the tightness in their chest.
The breath that once flowed in story
now contracts beneath the weight of certainty.

Adulthood was supposed to be mythic.
Not naive, not childish - but mythically aware.
Fairytales were not lies; they were early myths, scaled to the soul’s infancy.
And as the soul matured, it needed new myths -
not rules, not guilt, not empty productivity.

But somewhere along the way, the myth was either:

• flattened into doctrine,

• branded by the priest,

• confiscated by the state,

• or dismissed as fantasy.

And so, adults now stagger through life mythless, wondering why their breath feels heavy and their days feel hollow - not because mystery is gone, but because it was never invited to grow up with them.

Something sacred is still here -
but it no longer feels like home.

You try to remember the warmth of the early voice,
the one who held your hand,
who didn’t need to explain every mystery,
only to walk beside you while you carried it.

But the priest won’t let you forget what’s required.
And the power makes sure you never question why.

So the parent is dismissed.
The myth becomes a mandate.
And the child is told that growing up means
never questioning the house you were raised in.

But what if growing up
means walking out the door?

What if the return to sacred presence
requires stepping beyond both the priest and the power
to find the original voice again -
the one that spoke in lullaby, not legislation?

Sacred Imagination Remembers the Symbolic Parent

Sacred Imagination doesn’t reject tradition out of spite.
It listens for the original intention beneath the institution.
It asks:
What was this myth trying to offer before it was weaponized?
What was this ritual trying to remember
before it was required?

Sacred Imagination walks back past the edicts,
past the councils,
past the canonization and the creeds,
to sit at the feet of the old stories again.

It remembers that the fire was kind before it was guarded.
That the breath was sacred before it was systematized.
That the symbol pointed to something real -
before we were told we had to believe it or burn.

And in doing so, Sacred Imagination doesn’t slay the priest or rage against the power.
It simply listens for the parent’s voice again -
and begins to walk beside it.

Not as a child in need of rules,
but as a soul in search of meaning that breathes

Reflection

for those walking beyond the priest and the power

May you remember
the voice that never raised itself
but stayed near.

May you walk - not in defiance,
but in deeper reverence.

May you carry the stories
that still breathe,
even after the stone has cracked
and the system has crumbled.

And when someone asks you,
“Do you still believe?” -
may you smile gently,
and say:

“I still walk with the first voice.
The one that didn’t demand - but stayed.
And that is enough.”

Sacred Imagination as Myth Reoffered

This is exactly what Sacred Imagination reclaims:
Not belief.
Not belonging to a tribe.
But a myth strong enough to walk beside us through adulthood.

Something rooted in presence, not proposition.
Something open enough to breathe -
but meaningful enough to hold you up when the storm comes.

I’m not just inviting you back to myth -
I’m inviting you forward into a mythic adulthood
that religion never offered
and modernity forgot how to imagine.

What could be possible now, meaning wise, if our world continues as a post-certainty, post-mythic mind, and post-meaning-fullness world? I think only -

• When post-certainty leads to humility, not despair - that's the beginning of wisdom.

• When post-mythic mind doesn’t reject myth, but sees through it with loving eyes - that's maturity.

• When post-meaning-fullness isn't the collapse of meaning, but the shedding of inherited meaning that never fit - then you're ready for living myth.

If that is missing, then nihilism takes root.
And when nihilism rises, religion reasserts itself with fear,
and power offers its counterfeit order.

But my vision says:

“No - there’s another way.”
We can order ourselves not by force, but by shared meaning.
Not imposed.
Not inherited.
But mythically woven together, like a story told around the fire -
remembered, adapted, and made real in how we walk with one another.

Can Humans Order Themselves Through Collective Myths?

Yes.
But not any myth.
Only myths that honor soul, freedom, and shared breath.

And Sacred Imagination is one such myth - not as a closed tale, but as an open structure, a spiral path where each traveler becomes a co-weaver of the next turn in the story.

This is hopeful – but it’s also archetypally sound.
That’s how myths lived before they were codified.
And it may be how they’ll live again.