There’s a path.
On this path, a dirt road
Cold against the feet.
On this path you walk towards the horizon.
On either side
Green grass,
Too beautiful to step on,
Too alluring to rest on.
Your legs tired,
You keep walking
Weariness always accompanied by excitement of the unknown.
Sometimes above the infinite expanse you see mountains
Sometimes you see oceans
Sometimes you don’t see anything,
Except a shade tree
Not too far in the distance.
The shade tree promises rest,
And yet the shade tree never seems to get closer.
You began to walk the path
Before you knew there was a path to be walked.
Strangers you met along the way,
New landscapes enticed you away.
New dawns promised novelty, adventure.
Some you sought, some
Sought you.
You threw yourself into everything,
Out of fear of missing anything.
Each passing town fading
Your memory of the path and the shade tree.
Along the way
Roads crowded,
Possessions gathered.
Souls silenced
By ambition.
The unknown horizon
Disappeared.
In its place,
A known horizon, a painted picture.
The painted horizons promised
To unburden from never not knowing
What lay ahead.
All travelers wading towards the painted picture.
All travelers numbed by the safety of illusion.
Like a cry of wailing sirens,
The painted horizon lured you.
With no sailors to tie you to a mast,
An unwitting prisoner you became.
Years passed,
Trapped in the comfort
And acceptance of the painted horizon.
Inside the painted horizon,
There’s nowhere left to go.
Inside the painted horizon,
You are always already there.
With nowhere left to discover,
The heart bleeds,
And begins to die.
“Who painted these horizons?”
You begin to ask yourself one day.
At night you dream
Of bare feet,
Cold
On a dirt path,
Of hot sun
And a vast unknown.
Memory of somewhere,
Where there was much to discover,
Where there was much unknown,
Where you were once unknowingly alive,
Comes back to you.
You decide to journey back
To the path you once walked.
But while the path is easily lost,
It is difficult to find.
You trace the roads
Back the way you imagine you came
Aimlessly hoping to find your way.
When you’ve searched in all directions,
To no avail,
You start to question the existence of the path
In your dreams
In your memory.
Weary,
You sit down under a shade tree.
Feet throbbing
Shoes off,
Sweat
Trickles down.
A light breeze kisses your cheeks
Caresses your hair.
Sleep slumbers,
Dreams drizzle,
No longer tortured by loss of the path.
Now
You dream an older dream.
A child’s dream of possibility, a dream of what may still be.
Wake up.
Feet refreshed.
Shoes missing.
Thank the tree for having nurtured your soul.
Stand up.
As you walk out from under the tree
Your feet feel the cold dirt path,
A bird flies out the canopy of a tree in the distance towards
unbound horizon.
After a few steps you look back
Only to see an endless dirt road
Treaded with footprints
As far as the eyes of a bird could see.
Forward.
There’s a path.
On this path, a dirt road
Cold against the feet.
On this path you walk towards the horizon.
On either side
Green grass,
Too beautiful to step on,
Too alluring to rest on.
Your legs tired,
You keep walking
Weariness always accompanied by excitement of the unknown.
The horizon never gets closer
Even though you are walking towards it.
Every now and then
Passersby,
New dawns,
Adventure,
Tempt you away the way they once did.
But now you’ve walked the path of others,
The path of painted horizons,
And know the path is easily lost
And difficultly found.
When you do get lost
You learn to look
For the shade tree.
While the shade tree welcomes
All weary travelers
Who seek their path,
To find her
You must be searching for
the eternal, unknown horizon.
Originally published at medium.com