The Trackless Path

Bookkeeping and accountability

Is very much like a cold water plunge.

It brings me into immediate contact

With a cold harsh reality

That is at the same time

Shocking and invigorating.

Holy cow! What a reality check

To face the unrelenting numbers.

But I love it. 

Every expense, however minute, counted.

Every dollar added up and carefully budgeted

With single minded intent toward wise investment.

It turns out that I don’t make as much money as I thought!

And that makes me disinclined to waste a single minute.

I can’t afford to. They are too prescious.

Most of my life was laissez faire.

I trusted God to provide 

And he did.

But this new thing of facing the numbers

Is also precious. The God of Truth

Is also in the numbers.

The cold water.

He is in the miracles.

But he is also in the math.

He is in the wandering wilderness.

And he is in the rocky soil we must plow

When we reach the promised land.

A fire’s lit within me

Where the broken waters flowed,

A covenant to purchase

All the land they have disposed,

The barren wasted places

That the Spirit only knows

To feed the broken family

That in my heart like flowers grow.

I rejoice that the land is going back.

It is being claimed by the owls 

And by the finches,

By the little birds

And by the great big bears.

For it appears that despite the grasping hands,

That the pebbles fall between the fingers.

For the time is up.

The lease has been reclaimed

And soon, it will be turned loose to the wild ones 

Who have no other place to go. But fear not, 

It’s just the land you haven’t used.

You won’t miss it when it’s gone.

You may even rejoice

To be spared the taxes.

For a curse is decreed upon the land.

Hear it, oh people! I say again,

A curse is decreed

Upon the land.

And now

Behold the One who watches over sparrows

Come to give homes to those

Without holes. Behold, 

He comes 

With lightning in His hand.

And there is no way to cling anymore 

To anything but that which you most cherish,

So choose well.

From frugality, comes generosity.

• Tao Te Ching, Ch. 67

Who would have guessed?

But think about it,

If I am an extravagant landlord,

I can't afford to give you a break 

When you lose your job 

And can't pay the rent.

The same is true 

If I'm in debt.

The bank is relentless 

And so must I be.

Only the frugal landlord,

The one who buys with cash

Out of a fraction of his means

Can afford to give the honest man a break

When he really needs one.

Only the frugal man can remain human

Because he's free from the machine.

This morning I was trying to decide what to write

And a thought came into my mind

That had been brewing since yesterday:

“Investment is more about valuing what you have 

Than it is about the acquisition of property.”

Is that really right? I wondered.

And then the second part came:

“If you make good use of your present means,

Property will fall into your hands.”

And I was blown away,

Fall into your hands!

Incredible!

I am drawn to the song of the heart, sung with others.

It’s been so many years since I sang.

Perhaps I will find a choir.

The thought feels like home.

And yet I live in the boonies, 

Not many great choral groups nearby.

If I do join a choir, I want to find 

Some people who take it seriously,

Not professional musicians, but musicians,

Not just a handful of parishioners 

Looking for something to do 

On a Sunday afternoon.

I wonder, do you too love choral music?

If so, what does it do for you?

Am I alone in the sense of home I find in it?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

I am feeling rather practical today, 

More like a merchant, less like a poet.

I am intrigued by watching money,

Seeing it slowly trickle in,

Marking down the numbers

Alotting the returns

And pouring a portion of my means,

Into the opportunities that wait.

And what’s the point?

To grow in wealth.

How vulgar that once seemed.

And yet, as the rivers flow into the Ocean,

I am drawn unto this end,

As if from the beginning it was 

And always has been my sacred pledge.

And as the rich despised my poverty,

The poor will hate my wealth.

How strange. And yet,

I cannot but follow 

The Voice 

That now prompts me to do it.

My life, my fortune, is forfeit unto Him.

In the early journey of the soul,

Spirits long to test the waters,

To experience all they can.

They want to try this

And try that.

They are curious.

And they grow in light

Then fall behind, then grow,

Then fall behind.

And it’s similar for old souls,

They too want to know what’s out there

But with a different motive.

They no longer 

Believe that they can grow

By experience alone.

They forsake 

The thing they want to know

For the unseen guiding hand.

They say “not my will be done,”

They let go of all their dreams

In preference to the will

Of the One they cannot see,

And so grow brighter and brighter.

They become ONE THING.

And that thing gets added upon eternally.

And isn’t it the same with earthly experience?

As children, we want to be a fireman,

And a pilot, a cowboy or a movie queen,

A housewife, a doctor, and a veterinarian.

But in the end, we must eventually choose.

Or not. We can choose to remain children,

Moving from this thing to that

But never really growing 

Into the thing we’re meant to be.

And it’s all ok. Some grow up fast.

Some take a little longer. 

Some are old souls, giving again and again,

Becoming more and more themselves.

And others paint the planet 

With beautiful colors

As they try this thing and that.

It is the way of souls to be curious.

And it is the way of old souls 

To be even more curious

About the will of the unseen.

We make do as best we can, don’t we?

And when we can’t, it’s over.

And that’s it. 

That’s the story of life.

People living, people dying.

Some live well and some are lost

In the problems they find along the way.

But that’s all they are is problems.

And all the problems are connected

To the little life that’s ours here on this earth,

Nothing lasting. Nothing eternal.

So long as we can see it that way,

So long as when we die, 

We are not bound to this earth

By a thought that wants to stay,

A bone to pick, a price to pay.

For myself, I’ll fly away,

Just like the old song says.

I’ll fly away, oh, glory,

I’ll fly away.

When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,

I'll fly away.

It doesn’t seem so hard now. 

It’s just a matter of time

And patience

And movement 

Toward the destination.