The Trackless Path

You have no idea how little I care about your sprockets,

Nor how fast I can turn ‘em out on your machine.

But the whole big thing might matter just a little

If I could only see the woman smile

As she rolls her window down.

Then perhaps, I’d care, just a little.

Maybe it would help me believe 

That all of this means something.

But I can’t see past the metal

Nor the wheel that turns the days around

And squeezes out another carefully measured dollar

Into my silent bank account

Without a word, without a look, without even 

The feel of your sweaty palm 

As the money passes

From your hand

Into mine.

And so, one day soon, I’ll move on.

These places are all the same.

But you knew that.

You knew that my allegiance was temporary,

And you planned for the day when

I would leave and be replaced 

By another just the same.

Maybe next I’ll try a restaurant.

And there I’ll brew up pots of beans.

I’ll cut tomatoes, and chop up salad greens

And wrap them up in fine burritos.

And, now and then, I’ll look out, 

To see the people smile 

And listen as they 

Compliment the establishment.

I am a paradox.

I have been since my youth.

Wherever I go, I do not fit.

I do not fit with the higher-ups.

I do not fit with the lower-downs.

And yet, I kind of fit with the higher-ups

Until you get to know me better.

And I kind of am a lower-down

When see the place I live.

I am more comfortable with those

Who are lost or on the fringes,

At least for a while,

Though I don’t imbibe

In the liberties of their station.

And I can fool the higher-ups

Into believing I am one of them,

At least for a while.

Sooner or later they realize 

That I do not embrace the dogma

That raises them up to their lofty station.

And from then on they see me as dangerous.

And it’s ok. I don’t mind being what I am.

It just means that I have a hard time 

Finding a place where I can settle down.

Dome Valley - a tiny warmth within highlights the sign

That marks the turnoff from the southbound highway.

But I don’t turn. I keep going toward a familiar metropolis.

And the next morning I find out that the person I seek

Is half an hour East. That is further than I thought.

I board the interstate and drive.

The suburbs stretch out

Mile after mile, 

But then begin to thin

As I rise, rise, upon the back 

Of some small range

Of mountains.

I crest the summit

And again see a sign - Dome Valley.

Something swells within me as I gaze down 

Upon the green fields of lettuce and kale.

And it wraps me up in the sweet knowing

That I have again found the sheltering cloud and fiery pillar.

Thank you, dear God, that this is home for a while

And that I have a work to do here

A person to love and find

And a healing to receive

As I rest beneath 

The canopy

That you spread over all those

Who keep moving toward the holy place.

A note to myself:

The vital thing is to publish. 

To finish. And if that’s the goal, 

Then the writing will bend itself to that aim.

It is a strategy for those of us who get lost along the way.

I am back out on the BLM,

A few hours, a night.

I had forgotten how peaceful.

The stark difference strikes me.

It could be the ocean,

Or a mountaintop,

Or an empty grassy plain,

It would be the same

So long as it was wild and unclaimed.

It’s so much easier here.

A place that nobody owns.

I knew a man who lived far out on the BLM

Where no one would notice.

Perhaps this is why.

I need this,

My family needs this,

The world needs this,

A wild place that nobody claims

To be alone with God

And the silence.

You don’t have to denounce your past 

To embrace your newfound passion.

They are one thing in the end.

And he who denounces 

Will continue to denounce.

But he who embraces it all with gratitude,

Will be added upon forever and ever.

The children of light are of one tribe

To spite their varied persuasions.

I have found that people often have conflicting goals

That they do not care to notice.

And since they want things to remain the same

More than they want the change that will bring improvement,

They do not make much progress.

Once our goals are aligned

We can move forward.

Before that time,

We must either face the contradictions

Or eternally flounder and grow disenchanted with the process.

I leave early - before I become a nuisance.

The shadow and the pillar have moved again, and I move on,

South, I believe, to the place that borders another country,

It’s funny that after all of these years,

I still tremble and feel insecure.