The Trackless Path

I remember the day when they walked away,

They stepped out into the storm,

And some into the forest,

Some to the desert.

And we haven't seen them since

Except in dreams and in our imagination.

They haunt us there. And everywhere we turn,

We find their absence calling us into the unknown.

And the world is worse off without them,

It grows darker and darker every day.

How we hate Him for taking the best,

Almost as much as we hate ourselves

For not having faith enough to follow.

Rather than go to war, we withdraw.

We retreat, retreat, retreat,

Until, if we eat,

It is because we are fed by angels. 

And then, there, we find the sacred place,

A world apart. It is a land of miracles.

And it now dawns upon the world by faith.

I long to leave in silence,

To be around, then disappear.

It is in keeping with my nature,

To pack my things by moonlight

And be gone before breakfast.

And I swear that when the heavens 

Rolled forth into existence that I knew

That this would be my calling,

To witness with my presence,

And let Him witness 

When I'm gone.

I cannot make heads or tails of hell.

My face is toward the light-filled place

And I will not turn back anymore forever.

How often I have longed for a hand upon my back,

A reasurring gesture, a friendly touch.

There is so much

That we don’t understand.

And demons wait in the wings

To seperate us from the ones we love.

But I have not forgotten how the world began.

It rises in my sacred imagination. 

And I see you there,

The sacred one,

The friend that I’ve forgotten.

And from that place, I reach out 

To put a hand upon your back,

A reassuring gesture, 

A friendly touch.

Dear God, please wrap us up

In the love of friends that we’ve forgotten.

And the hope of a world that one day

Will return to how it was

In the beginning.

I’ve taken on with some Tongans

Laying down cement.

And I like it. Long hours and 

Heavy work in the wet Missouri heat.

And when we’re done, we eat and eat.

There is a kind-heartedness about them,

A purity and generosity that the world is missing.

And it’s all about the family, the family.

The ties of Father Abraham.

And the branches have reached over the wall to me,

As if, for this little stint of my life, I am one of them,

Adopted in the very center of the love

Of the Old Patriarch himself.

We can only do a little,

But if we do it faithfully, 

And consistently,

Over time,

It adds up to a lot.

My life has started over at nearly fifty.

That’s how it seems. And I wonder

How much work I can accomplish

In the service of the Great Unseen

Before it’s time to go.

It is a comfort to realize 

That life will soon be over.

Think of it. All that we think we are

Is temporary. And yet I suppose

If you believe that you’re “all that”,

Then the thought that it will soon end

Is not so comforting.

The coming world is slower

And as we slow down,

We will rise

To meet the angels 

Who have time to spare.

But you knew that. You knew

That all the rushing, toiling, pressing, and grinding,

Was blocking your other ears, your other eyes.

So slow down. Take time to listen.

The new world can only come 

One hearer at a time.