I've wondered often how long it took Mr. Frost to make his decision. I've concluded that despite the testimony of the trials of all knowing college freshman, I must agree with the poet. The influence of the path one takes is not known until 'somewhere ages and ages hence,' long after it has been traversed....
I have trapped myself under a battle. My will against my will. More precisely: the fear which my consciousness omits from acknowledgment, against the basic need to live and have relationships which risks the danger of just that. Continuing to hunker down and wishing to escape unscathed is no longer a realistic option. I alone have set myself here and must stand, must choose, in order to proceed.
Four months ago I longed for nothing more than to disappear. In many ways I've been successful. I am disconnected with most of life. I keep people in the dark, though that was not an intentional side effect. I stay in from the world. I venture out when necessary, but one would be surprised how rare necessary is when the meaning is truly understood. I stay connected to the vastness of a digital empire and get lost among the throng of others' meticulously selected snippets of reality shared; all the while contributing to the practice myself. Whether wisdom or folly, I've successfully transformed myself into an urbanized hermit and prepared for the road I thought was ahead.
I've wandered some, though not so much as I should have liked. Why? Reality rains on the romanticism of the vagabond in ways knowable only to those who have attempted the path. I say this not in arrogance but in the humility of one who has been rudely awakened to his own ignorance. The decision to set forth at the outset of my personal monsoon season has hindered me early on a lonely road. I've not yet concluded if this is a saving grace or not. But I do know this: in the attempt to leave everything I've made little effort to ensure the companionship of god. The cost of forsaking everything, including him, is simple and it is literal - a truth that all believe they know until truly tested.
And so the first major crossroad of this meandering journey is realized though I fear I've lingered too long at it's quandary; voluntarily blind to the necessity of a decision. To what degree shall I remain estranged? The quiet whispers of impossibilities and fears of irreparable alienation lie vulnerably naked next to the apprehensive drive to continually see what lies over the horizon. Do I regroup for a time and press on down this lonely road? Do I abandon it and give way to conventional "wisdom"? Part of me longs for the security of a steady job, a welcoming community, and maybe one day even a decent credit score; but I fear more the hell of complacency and settling. Part of me has a need to search, to wander; but fear it's toll on other possibilities. I, like the poet, know I will not be able to return to this junction. Even should these paths cross again, I'll not be able to acquire what lies along the untaken portion. This, then, is what I fear.
A great man, perhaps the best man I've ever known, once gave me words that will never fade:
"Your heart is not broken because God failed. Nor is it broken because you are a failure. It is broken because you are an adventurer and you took a risk. It hurts... it will hurt again. But that is what men like us do. We risk, sometimes to our own demise. Better to have lived and felt pain then to have not lived at all. God is faithful."
This, then, is what I fear: What shall I risk? What will I have to give up? And how much will it hurt? Whatever path I choose, I earnestly desire the company of the God I was once close to.
I think... I think tomorrow this urban hermit will go outside. Mayhaps it shall clear my head.
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