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The Maze.
I met them at the gate though I usually wait inside. Preoccupied with their own thoughts, impatient, like so many children, they didn’t see who I really was. They never noticed my crown, my pain, the fire in my eyes.
Like all the others they think the Maze was made for them; actually, it is the other way around. They think I am some poet who will lead them through the symbols and spaces of this Underworld. They think I will teach them lessons. They should call me Cerberus…. I am the lesson.
The monstrous walls rise up and run away as far as the human eye can see, circling and dividing. Which half is the Maze?
Even I get lost. It changes–sometimes slowly, imperceptibly … sometimes suddenly. This House is not only made of stone and mortar, wood and paint; it is made of time and mystery, hope and fear. Construction never stops. I take some pride in my role as architect.
They think I will guide them to the center. Perhaps I will….
The sun was very hot.
Together we walked through the gate into…
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