The Trackless Path

There's usually a little real

In the midst of pretense.

And where there is any

There is hope.

Old Joe sits on the porch and moans, 

Or rather, growls, but under his breath

As the storm clouds gather on the horizon.

He’s seen it a thousand times in his long dog life,

The white, the grey, the nearly black,

And he knows that it will rain,

Like cats and dogs,

Like cats and dogs

They say.

Why do they put it that way?

He doesn’t rain. He sits and stays,

And watches the horizon every day.

And because of that, he has seen rain.

Rain that drives the birds away.

Where do they go? he wonders.

Far away, he thinks,

But not old Joe,

He sits and stays.

Except for the time when the twister came.

It came on a day just like today.

And blew and blew

The house away.

And old Joe wasn’t there that day.

That’s why he’s here to tell about it.

“Come on, Jack,” he said. And I did.

And we went down to the dealership

And he bought a new truck.

The color was black.

The Interior was tan.

And it smelled like new leather.

We drove to the edge of town,

And past, to the border of our state,

And past, to the Canadian Border,

And past, through Saskatchewan, Alberta, and British Columbia,

And past, into the Yukon Territory,

And past, until finally, he arrived at Inuvik.

There we boarded a ship and traveled to the North Pole,

And past, into the hole that everyone knows

Is found at the top of the world,

Where the heat rises from the earth’s core

Making the water and the land inside so warm.

And there he stayed. He didn’t come back.

He became an inner-earther.

And the tribe made him one of their own.

And he said “Goodbye Jack.”

And I said, “Goodbye,” 

And then came back.

Her backdoor opens out onto the rooftop.

And of an evening, she steps out of this world

And into the otherworldly light

That can only be found

On rooftops.

And she keeps it a secret,

Lest her neighbors suggest

That she entertain them there.

But one day, she thinks

That she will share it 

With someone special.

Until then, it is her private portal,

Her sacred chamber, 

Her hidden temple.

And yet,

I see her there

From across the way

And avert my eyes 

From the sacred place

Pretending not to notice.

Come on. Let’s go.

Where?

Out of all you know?

Why?

Because it’s over?

Why?

I don’t know.

But I have bills to pay.

I know.

And a mortgage,

A career, and dreams,

And people who rely on me

To negotiate our little piece of hell.

I know. But it’s over. Let’s go.

Because He came

We do not need to fight about it.

Because He’s here,

We can have peace.

And it’s ok that some

May be wrong about it.

We will not resist evil, 

As he said.

But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:39 

If you count on books to quench your thirst for truth

You will be always panting after something

That is just beyond your reach.

And the books will pile high.

And you will grow old

And die

As you turn the leaf

Of yet another volume.

And it’s because the thing you seek is hiding.

And only an unseen hand

Can turn the key, 

Unlock the mystery,

Open the door to the thing you seek.

And once it does, you’ll finally stop seeking it 

Where it cannot be found. And it will well up inside of you

A fountain of living water. And you will no longer thirst,

No longer think that it is just around the next corner

Or behind the next page as the case may be.

The hermit who hides himself in God

Knows that what he does in silence 

Is very important.

The world will never become whole 

So long as we pray for what we want.

We must learn to pray for that which hurts.

“O my Father, if it be possible,

Let this cup pass from me:

Nevertheless not as I will,

But as thou wilt.”

It appears that this is the example.

And why? Because, while veiled in flesh,

We do not know what is good for us or for the world.

We have but two eyes, one life, one brain.

And so we seek the will that is on high.

And trust the eye that sees us all

And the mind that knows

What we can’t know.

And this kind of prayer, the prayer of sacrifice

Will change the world and turn it ‘round 

Into a thing that looks like heaven.

The deeper I grow, the quieter it is,

And the closer I am to home.

I will dig, dig, down deep

Toward the silent place

And there, draw nourishment 

With unnumbered tentacles

To feed the leafy branches

Light years away.

And little will they know that it was me,

That fed their best dreams of all that’s real.

And I will sleep in silence

As they praise the light

And say, Oh God,

How great! Oh God,

How perfectly sublime,

The message of our life 

That unfolds day by day!

And so I say to myself and God

Dig, dig, down deep beneath it all.

And let me disappear.

That they may know

You better.