The Gorge

 As the landscape behind me dissolves from existence. It would take me too, if I did not keep taking steps forward. Here, now, I stand at the gorge, the one that I have feared. There have been many of these. I have walked some and run some. Sometimes I was concerned, other times, not so much.

I hold back, taking a look behind me, the land and all of its essence steadily fading behind me. I have to go now, or all is lost. I step forward, and the weathered wooden slat pops beneath my foot. Years of neglect and storms have made the wood seem like styrofoam, and the ropes feel almost like mere ash.

I step so lightly and transfer weight to my leading foot as though I could somehow will in my heart to withhold some of my weight by holding my breath. I touch the ropes lightly. Somehow, I need to walk on this bridge without actually walking on it.

Denial, a brand of torturous peace, the armistice so many signed in the blood of freedom, oh, to see you from the top of a mountain. What is better? Fire, wind, or war? I saw your pain and your tears, and I hated myself. How could I?

Do we compete in measuring our pain, or are we soldiers carrying that together, keeping watch upon the land of which we live? A safe home. A safe life. Is the alternative true? Do we out-pain each other so that we don't have to hear the rest? If there is anything I can do to help with anything you see on this multiple-choice list, let me know. I am here for you.

The old, tattered bridge keeps popping and swinging in an unhealthy way. I have only taken three steps out onto it, and in the mist at times, I cannot even see what is below me. I know, I am never going to make it. There may have been a day when I could, but others would have fallen off because of me. There was just no way that I was going to do that. 

I wonder what the silent protesters and the oppressed picketers are thinking. But the canvas sacks that cover the signs they are carrying are not so easily removed. Deep in my heart, there is a spark of something that says the puzzle is solved in ways that seem contrary. I know that is right. Sail on, Sail on, Oh mighty ship of truth. It is the only way that we are not swept away from existence. It is the only way across this gorge.