This morning I sat with anxiety and focus. Though at the breakfast table of an establishment, I sat in the hurried silence of my inner turbulence. Four seats for guests with me, sat, invisibly, though too familiar – my inner family of wrestling wants.
I looked up to see a man directly across from me at another table enjoying his paper. I looked back into my book as Thoreau threaded my thoughts in his gift of insight, i looked up and now saw a different man. How long was my mind attuned to his words in the pages? I couldn’t have had turned more than two pages.This man was older than the first, and sat with no one. Again I retreated back into my book, but this time my focus was scattered, perhaps for a reason. Shortly through the doors of the establishment a little body of no more than five years old ran towards the old man, with her young voice greeted the old man. The old man, in his aged weathered voice, greeted her back. I heard in his voice the joy of being recognized by such a life, but with a subtle dread of having to entertain that which gave that little body life.

I turned back into my book, and read about Thoreau and something about railroads, but my mind was wandering. I saw in my minds eye horses wrapped up in horse stables, all young, strong, and restless. I saw in my minds eye the image of Aragorn soothing a war-torn battle horse, and setting it free. In the same breath of thought that horse symbolized existential dread; to keep captive a wild thing is to control its passions. Horses are wild, and in the wild they are free, and in the wild they find that they are in control of their passions. As I dwell within the confines of the two hours before I return to my stable for eight hours, I cannot help but feel myself buck, sneer, dread, and revile. I ask myself, am I the horse that needs to be set free, or Aragon?

On the way we passed an elementary school, it was recess and all the children were out and about. It was a sobering experience, it was sentimental in some former life. In the pocket of my heart I felt the sweetness of youth, the bitterness of the experiences to come, and the dread of my disposition passing them by. The windows though large were no different than the stagnant bars that made the lines in jail windows. Im no more in a different position than those who committed some horrible crime against society. I have committed the greatest crime against myself, being intertwined in sloth like rapture in my youth. I am now paying the price by working for someone who has in his youth done his due diligence.
Im not being punished, nor am I punishing myself, this is the lot I have given myself.

“You think youre living in the moment, you’re never living in the moment. Everything you do will come back to you tomorrow, but you will meet it there today.”

In the heat of my passion to escape the warty fingers of my secular obligation I found not by reason but by inspiration the way forward. A path laid out, by light, not illuminated by light, but by the personified person of light. He by his wisdom and mystery in words put in my mind the way. I said to those who asked where am I going, that I go where I am invited.
Its been too long to come to this knowledge, how much I have suffered to learn, and to experience fully the pain of birth and death, in the same life, within. So there is hope, and this is my hope, that these words I write, the messages I capture, the stories I will share one day will make its way into the heart of this world, and captivate, fill, and lead them to the path layer.

Where do all paths begin and end?
All we do is take a step,
With wandering feet
And restless imagination.

The world won’t embrace me with open arms, I also doubt that even the church will give me audience, but I know that the seeds I carry are potent. The book Ive been holding for a time can be likened to a seed, having had waited for the season to sow, and now that the season is on the cusp of arrival, I am preparing myself for the work ahead of me.

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