Through Ariadne's Eyes

The pain of the handcuffs collaborating with the unbearable heat in the back of the police car put my brain into overload and sent me back in time to a little girl in Mexico -pulled out of bed, beaten, thrown under a kitchen table, and freezing by the door winter's draft on a pile of urine-soaked burlap sacks. Sobbing, struggling to breathe and trying to comprehend my current nightmarish scenario, I realized my life was again, out of control. Millennium-old myths, societal laws, and forces beyond my control had conspired to knock me off my path into an earthly hell, where unbeknownst to me, I was to dwell for the next three years.
My choices were clear-I had to negotiate the Labyrinth, face the Minotaur -and win.
Stories weave our life and through them we make meaning of our existence. Yet, there is a fine line between experiencing the story and believing it. It takes constant vigilance to prevent their internalization.