The beginning

I am going back in time, trying to determine the beginning of this long journey. I dive into the depths of my internal memory, searching for my first footsteps. My effort to determine the specific day, or even year seems futile now. It feels like it's a journey as ancient as my primary pulse.

As I move deeper into the labyrinth of knowlegde about our Goddess, the journey becomes even more exciting. Records,documents, artifacts, legends and traditions, all transform into keys unlocking  doors locked with rusted lockers. Doors which were shut for eons,  kept invisible, buried deep into the ground by pilgrims of new religions that dominated the ancient ones, stained with blood. Light over darkness,  our soul's flame spreads a faint light on the walls of dark corridors. Our destination...  could it be the entrance/exit of this labyrinth? Who knows? It doesn't matter anyway. What counts  most, is  the journey to Ithaca itself, according to Constantinos Cavafis, the Greek poet  form Alexandria, Egypt.