The Trackless Path

There are more people out there than you realize.

The world is full of them.

And each one

Is intricate.

I could travel the whole world round 

And never meet enough of them.

And so I have to content myself with one at a time.

And yet I know that I will never really understand

The width and breadth of humanity.

And yet I think that’s what I’m doing.

And the further I go, the more I see the vastness of it.

And it fills me with wonder to know 

How small we are in comparison to the whole,

And yet how wondrous and complex,

The reality of any human soul.

There is an ancient magic, long forgotten,

But we dream of it with tales of hobbit holes,

And villages that hang from rainforest canopies

And enchanted castles that only appear 

At a certain time of year,

And only to the pure in heart.

It is the magic of being there, 

And yet blending in so well 

With the nature of things

As to be invisible.

But long ago, we lost the art.

It fell into the sacred, guarded, chasm 

That lies between here and the heavenly realm.

But this magic is returning to the earth.

It is claiming all those who can forsake the extra thing

And fly upon the wings of unheard voices

That speak out of the sacred place.

But the gift of invisibility

Is only for the pure in heart.

And the sacred chasm opens now

And for a time, a thousand years perhaps.

And eventually, it will close back up.

Will you claim the sacred gift

While it is open?

I took a trip upon a starship bound for nowhere.

I thought that it would be a holiday,

But it was not.

I was disappointed

By the emptiness of space,

The vastness of it’s lonely solitude,

The unspeakable quiet of nobody there.

I thought I would go mad 

For lack of somebody to talk to.

And yet, the inward voice 

That had guided me in all my journeys was there.

And together, we visited planet after planet.

I let it take the lead. And the views were not half-bad 

Because of that. But I missed people

And so I went back home

To be with my people,

But I told them

Not to go.

There was a time when the mystery of life held me captive,

And tomorrows were trusted to sort themselves out.

A shooting star was entertainment,

And the dream of what I’d be changed from day to day.

And it wasn’t bad,

It was good,

Childhood.

And perhaps I can go back.

Perhaps I can let go a little more to the mystery,

And let my dreams and entertainment be swayed 

By the unexpected.

And maybe that’s not bad.

It might just be good

If I let it.

My mind is a dark wood

With barren trees and brown, dead, leaves, mostly fallen,

And a common finch at the heart of it.

And the deepest magic

Is found

By 

Believing that barren things are green with unseen leaves,

And that the heart of spring is found

Where the whole year-round

There whispers

Life

From the imagination of the dead wood of winter’s garden.

God knows what men can’t see.

So don’t worry about the outward.

Focus upon inward things.

Don’t deny the thing inside 

That tells you what is right.

You may not always do what’s right,

None of us are perfect.

And you may not always know what’s right,

There is no shame in ignorance.

But beware of saying that right is wrong

And wrong is right

When you know better.

For you might just convince yourself.

And once convinced, your state is truly terrible

Since you will fight for the wrong that’s right

And fight against the right that’s wrong.

And the spirit of all that deceives then takes control

And drives toward the abyss.

And surely, surely,

It will be a long time

Before the fog lifts,

Yes, truly, only ruin can help you when

The truth that burns within has been denied.

There is something about the form in silhouette that we like to see.

We don’t always want to see each of the particulars. 

But the simple thing, the form,

Cast upon the backdrop 

Of evening colors

Is beautiful.

Why is that?

Perhaps it is because peace lies 

In swallowing the whole 

To spite the ugly parts.

And perhaps that’s how we were persuaded 

To choose earth life before we came here.

We saw the whole of our future lives

Silhouetted upon the backdrop 

Of God’s perfect evening colors

And we said, sure. I’ll take it. It’s beautiful.

I can watch the life of leaves.

And so far, I have seen 49 crops,

49 crops, And they come and go

Without me doing anything.

It makes me think that life 

Might be more on track

Than I realize.

Oh Great Man in the sky, 

Holy Father, much maligned,

Look down with mercy upon us, your wayward children,

And shed grace upon our weakness,

For we cannot see you much of the time,

And so often we forget the way.

Oh, Jesus, Son of the Divine,

Have mercy upon us in our wayward climb,

And find us here in the depths of our worldly blindness.

And guide our steps day by day,

And forgive us when we think

That we can figure it out.

Holy Spirit, whisper of the Divine,

Please give to us this day

The manna that doesn’t keep.

Give us answers for the very moment

And keep us from thinking that we can figure it out.

For you are Holy, Perfect Spirit, Son, and Father much maligned.

And you know the way. When we stray, you know the way.

If we will but turn to you in blindness

And offer up our lofty thoughts as a sacrifice 

For they make us think we know the way

When in the end, they lead astray.

And only day by day

You show the way.

Day by day you show the way.