Walking the Path |
| You are walking down a strange path in some
foreign land. |
|
Everyone around you speaks a certain language, yet the
topics of the day mean less and less to you the further you travel. |
| In order to be thought fit company, you are
gradually forced to adopt
a facade of civility, when in fact you would rather be travelling with clones of
yourself. |
| Soon this desire passes when you realize that you contain
several selves, coexisting in your being... |
|
You further realize that everyone around you
is in the same condition, except they do not know it. |
...each believing that he or
she is the real you. |
| And so you walk, and at times the strange path does seem
like home, and the pretense does seem to be real, and when you turn left at the fork, it
does seem that you have decided to do this. |
|
But because you are different, sooner or later you arrive
at the undeniable conclusion that you do not decide anything. |
You never have. |
| As rain falls when it falls, and as grass grows when it
grows, you turn when you turn, |
|
and words flow from your lips at the command of something
much greater than the path, yourself, and the rain. |
| It is at this point that you
finally begin to consider the quite real possibility of leaving the path and entering the wilderness.
As you step off the path, your fear is
tempered by relief.
|
