As we know more about a lot, we master nothing. We toil and strive and then concede, ultimately wallowing in the muck and mire of our own personal experiences. We assume we are patently original, suspiciously aware of our hypocrisy. We claim we never lie and if we do then we do.
Sometimes in our youth, we wish to cheat death or get as close as we can to that. Impressing others of our bravado and recounting our glory years. Like the song, ‘Those Were the Days My friend, we thought they’d never end, we sing and dance forever and a day. We live the life we choose, we fight and never lose, those were the days, oh yes, those were the days.’
There was a time in our life, when we romanticized love, as if we were Romeo and Juliet, or we might be Bonnie and Clyde. We would make love as no one else could. Like a Muse in a Xanadu, we find our own reality, as we move gracefully together.
But then something happened. The Yellow brick road began to crumble and the house landed upon our love. With a resounding thump and a crash of dishes, our dreams faded like a late show re-run.
Those songs that inspired us, were now a requiem, sad and haunting. Soon bitterness impaled our hearts and they become like stone. And instead of skipping flat stones across a florid lake.
So maybe we find a church , with a choir and we sing staid old songs, as lifeless as a still-born dream. We are reverent and judging, but we judge others for their specks, while redwoods roam in our eyes.
We can’t wait to leave and try to depart as soon as we can and we claim a god of opportunity to an end with no life, like that old abandoned church.
We hear a knock from above, wistful vapors of the unseen but our spirit consists of seeing images in an office building and tying meaning to a ship that never comes back.
It need not end this way. In spite of unrequited love snatching us too early. the knocks push upon us harder and the message is clear and unwavering. Though all around are the indignant, honest, godly church going people who flick ashes upon others.
We cannot find what we assumed was there until our hearts melt for the needs of forgiveness of our own missteps. The harrowing nightmares we perpetrated on others, while claiming some kind of victim-hood.
When we realize that we are there, we will know we have arrived. Our pretentions are like tumbleweeds drifting on a dusty road. Yet in that abyss of faith, we find ourselves trembling but more free.
Remember good is never good enough and if it will be, it definitely be. with no further side-slips on that precarious path.