Tuesday, January 26, 2010
This is the story of the risings and fallings of a man following his vocation... discernment is often an intimidating word... and sometimes the word vocation is also misunderstood. It is a difficult to discern, especially in the teens and twenties, if one does not have great faith. This is, I admit, one of my worse poems... but the story it tells is important for others to see because this is a lonely and confusing time. One who is seeking a vocation must know that he is not alone.
Without direction, he set his course.
An eternal path he bet his honor he’d complete.
Barefoot and sightless he made his way.
In terror and in grief, the journey just begun,
He cried into the night.
A hand from the mist helped him on his way.
The thorns in his path were bent.
The stars pointed the way in the abyss,
And his tears were wiped into the night.
Still he was lost.
A phantom in the night of the dead.
A glimpse of light and his spirits rise.
He remembers his hopes and dreams, the ambition of a man.
A fantasy world beyond all bounds,
The end of the eternal path, the impossible end,
No better way could man spend his life,
Than to follow the impossible dream!
The man’s heart beats with fervor.
The light starts to fade and the path starts to wind,
He, a desperate man, could not survive the dark.
The light is gone, but he imagines its there,
He thinks of the great beyond.
Only in his mind it exists, but there it truly is.
Following a mirage, a mirror of his mind, he travels with all speed.
He tells himself of its beauty, and he lives;
On faith and hope he is driven.
In the midst of the wanderings of his mind,
The man is weak and lost.
He will not despair; his hope is too strong,
The journey must go on.
In his madness he sees a man by his side,
Soothing his tumult of mind and easing his terror of night.
In a craze he spills his heart in mindless words,
To this man, the ghost of his path.
His uncertainty is made certain.
The mysterious man who smiles and beams,
Speaks only of the dream of men,
The end of the eternal path, the mysteries of a reality apart.
Of the purest colors, he fills the man’s sight.
With stories of a lighted sphere, he absorbs the man’s mind.
He speaks of no time or space.
He sings out in joy, of mysteries unheard,
Ecstasy and contentment, peace and unity, children and men,
A place where the world is new and the sky a city of pearls.
The man lives in irrational truth and travels the eternal path.
The path is rough, the journey long,
The man tires and thirsts.
He turns from the path to the world around,
And strives to live a false life.
A king among servants, a man of horses, he progresses in his pride.
Educated and curious, intelligent and misled,
He follows the theories of thinkers and mathematicians.
His technology surpasses all that is known,
His riches are stacked in his barns.
But he does not travel, he does not move,
His being is still and wilting.
The mysterious man, he had forgotten, the path seems far away,
And yet only in his mind they’re gone.
He’s attacked and helpless, and dreams of the deep abyss,
And all his pride diminished.
How shall he begin again, the eternal journey?
Caught in the whirlwind of his own imagination, how shall he perceive the light?
Can his manhood surpass the weakness that he feels?
Can his weary limbs continue on the path he left?
Can his hazed eyes see the mysterious man again?
In a desperate attempt, he rises once more, in poorness and in humility.
A worm in the soil, a desperate man, he travels once again.
His eyes are blind, and yet he sees, his limbs are dead and he moves.
He travels persistently, knowing that the end is near.
He drinks deeply, aware of the deserts ahead.
His food he keeps within his bag, waiting for the final struggle.
His health and pride he sets aside, of his knowledge he cares no more,
How little all those riches mean, how little he needs the inspiration.
Yes, he travels without thought or meditation,
He trudges down the path again.
All earthly matter he puts behind,
All that concerned him means nothing at all.
His folly he forgets, his history he puts aside, his emotion is prey to his laughter.
Day by day, night by night, he travels with one movement,
Without fear, with only hope, he goes with one direction.
The straight path starts to bend.
Slowly he receives the consumption of all his efforts,
Slowly he forgets the eternity of the path.
Slowly all effort passes away.
Slowly the end becomes the beginning, and the circle is complete.
Now he is absorbed by light, his heart no longer beats.
The skies become the fairies’ cities,
The round world is now one constant light roaming in unending fullness.
And now he is, but travel he does not.
The pounding of drums sets the meter for one constant movement.
All earthly matter and heavenly spirit pass like ghosts through eternity.
Now are all hands joined in heavenly joy,
Now are all people made one in Charity.
A unity formed of unique rays of sun, the puzzle pieces all made one.
Eternal praises of the Trinity are sung.