| Pathfinding All roads lead to nowhere from this small town.
I walk to the edge of the paved street town
to be greeted by miles of fields laid out flat to the sky.
What to do.
I wander out through the dust to the deserted fairgrounds.
I walk the dirt circle track used only a couple days out of the year.
I work best with patterns.
I can follow the oblong trail, or paved street lines.
They require little thought or planning.
The choices are simple,
left or right,
forward or back.
The rest seems overwhelming.
The task of striking out and forging my own path takes so much courage.
It requires being constantly present and choosing every moment.
Where to take the next step.
I meander back along the carefully laid roads to a park.
I find comfort in the up and back
and up and back rocking motion of the swing.
I haven't sat here, on this swing in probably 15 years,
but the motion is the same.
A constant in life.
The swing will always ride up and back
and up and back again no matter where I am.
When dealing with such constants I must simply choose when to start
and when to stop again.
But what would happen if I wandered away from all constants?
Would I be able to maintain my sanity?
Dorothy's "…quiet room, a narrow room, and tall…"
may be all that "…bars the door against my heart out wailing in the rain."
So can a human ever find the strength
to let go of set patterns that hold the mind in place
finding something of themselves to hold together against the rages of emotion?
Faith and trust are what I return to again and again.
Lessons of faith are the most trying and difficult to learn.
It is too easy to place faith and trust in that which is immaterial.
Buildings can be torn down.
People change.
Faith in myself is difficult when I can see so clearly
all the mistakes I have made in the past.
So, I return to my Grandmother's house across town.
I have simple faith that she will be there,
just waking form her nap,
smiling to see me again.
I trust that we can have a simple meal
and she will still try to work too hard.
Copyright © 1999 by wendi loomis. |