Friday, April 2, 2010

ALL THE DIFFERENCE

What is it that slowly begins to threaten all that appears to have been built up? All that a soul first anticipates, desires, creates, expects and lives with, then may realize that all is not well. And what is life then if not creation and destruction--random or intentional? Attributed to Socrates is the pronouncement, "The unexamined life is not worth living." The nature of life seems to be that once it establishes itself, with our many illusions: what we think we want, need, must accomplish, wish were true for ourselves and others, it is unlikely that we intentionally step outside to observe in order to examine and make changes. It might happen that circumstances arise that force us to go in another direction, or we may tire of the pain and suffering we endure and feel determined to change, but the feeling fades, we falter, and continue on the same path instead of the "road less travelled," where we may learn that nothing is as it appears to be.
    Whether our life is examined or not, there still may be suffering and many tears. But if examined, there may also be understanding which will be worth the effort. Take that road! If we do not, we will continue to tread the same path, too fearful to veer off the familiar into the "undiscovered country." Like Dante at the beginning of his journey into light, we may see the only way to go forward is to face the obstacles, that is through hell. It is only a true desire and the will to free ourselves from the anxiety and desperation that we can move forward.
    Sometimes we are forced under a brilliant light cast by pain of any kind to see with more clarity, which can guide us toward change. Very rarely do we turn with deliberate intent to observe the forms and patterns that hold us in place. It is hard to turn, as Plato revealed in his "Allegory of the Cave." The prisoner remains in chains, gazing forward into the shadow forms, rather than into the harsh source of light.
    By the time I turned to look at the pattern of my life, however safe it may have appeared to others, I felt it was a path through a garden overgrown—some parts green, dense and thriving; some withered and dried; some blighted, or swept by storms, and here and there completely barren spots, as if from draught and darkness. Even if forced to look, it takes a long time--maybe a lifetime--to understand what we see how we have lived. There are those who never look, those who look and turn away, convincing themselves they have not seen what they saw. Some look, but are not prepared for what they see and may be shattered. Then there are those who look, open to own what they see, or integrate what has been, and eventually can say, as I have, “This has been and ever will be part of my life.” When I had looked long enough and hard enough, I thought I saw a glimmer in the distance, beyond an overgrown path with obstacles ahead. I am a wayfarer, still on my way toward the light.


The Wayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
“Ha,” he said,
“I see that none has passed here
in a long time.”
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
“Well,” he mumbled at last,
“Doubtless there are other roads.” (Crane).

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