The Principle of the Path

There is a path, and I am walking on it. During the sunshine I stroll. Sometimes during the night I run for fear. During a storm I tread carefully, for my footing is unsure. Whatever circumstance that crosses the path, I am constantly moving, like a pilgrim to their holy place.

There is something inside of me that keeps me going-- a steady beat that I must keep up with. And It grows stronger with every step.

By this path are sign posts, worn and battered by the passing winds. They have no direct labelings, but you can tell by their appearance what message they are giving. You see, these signs were once men and women. Long ago, these men decided they no longer wanted to journey on. They stood still, merely facing the direction they were once headed. Slowly, the steady beating inside faded, and they grew into their surroundings. You will see many of these on your way. They are almost colorless, unsaturated. . . Like a faded, black and white photograph, taken of the very moment they took their last step.

The mother with her baby in her arms, green vines crawling up her feet and ankles, stands cold and composed like an ancient marble pillar. Though her monumental figure has been worn by time, you can see marks that were there long before time stood still. A soft shade of blue under her eye. . . a blush of red across the cheek. Silent, yet she speaks. What does she have to say? Her eyes will say it all. The baby in her arm is also silent. She too is cold and unmoving.

I have passed many of these sign posts along the way. Sometimes I am sure their phantom figures are moving along side me, trying to pull me into their mossy graves. It is only a figment of my imagination, though. I am safe on this path if I keep my step. Often on a day rough for traveling I question my journey. I wonder when my wanderings will come to an end and I will have found my home. There are many times I pity myself-- here I am a poor, tired traveler. I have had no time to collect any possessions for myself or stop and build a place of rest. But that doesn't really matter, does it? For though I may be a poor traveler, I have a path and a step, like a drummer has a beat. And it grows stronger with every step.