What qualifies me to take inventory of the encounter, the journey, or the storm? They are the faces that never seem to change; only the heart beats and matures, and ultimately discerns. The news is the same, yet it is different. That is why, when I haven't seen my friend for years, it feels as though no time has passed when we meet. Sometimes that is good, other times it is terrible.
I can't hide from the clock or the calendar as the sun flashes like a yellow light at a lone abandoned intersection. I find myself so emotionally busy trying to absorb and adjust that it all seems like wasted time, then and now.
Simple is good. Joy is found there, then I find the floor is soft and I step, I fall, and away into complex problems that could never be solved. The answers are not required, the building blocks cannot create structures, and yet, I try over and over. I notice from time to time. Moments in time that I find clarity, and then suddenly, it is getting dark, on a lonely road, and I have no light or provisions. I cannot go back and make better choices, and now I have to deal with the consequences of the night. It can be a lifetime long.
Anyone along the lonely road is not capable of offering help, warmth, comfort, or rescue. They, too, are lost. In a vacuum, we all exist, and there is no way to break it. It took just a minute on this journey to stop for fuel, and the decision led to uncertainty about how to get back onto the highway.
Ironically, pirates steal all that I have and leave me on the ground without the strength to get back up. In my heart, I think I will get back up. No fuel, no food, nothing but regret for wasted time. Somebody, somewhere, in the vastness of this night, there is an answer. I know there is a way off this lonely road of futility.
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