I seem to be at a T intersection in my life. To the left is an architecture I cannot seem to recognise, there are not as many right angles and straight lines, the street light glow red and yellow, green and orange. There are creatures on the streets running stalls full of food I have never tasted or seen, they wear clothes so different to my own, and there is a wonderful meander to the road so that one cannot see around the bend. The left turn is an invitation to exploration and freedom from straight and cutting lines. The holy places on this street have curves, minarets, fountains, turrets and pools. They do not have frontal signs throwing wisdom at men, or flags flying high, but long tassles floating in the breese. Looking right I see a long line of colourless flags on high poles, and bold street signs guiding travellers with age old wisdom.To the left are things I am yet to discover, about life and about faith, about God and about man. Reflection on the intersection. As I stand and look at the intersection, at my life right now, I can see that the right turn was a later addition. Once there was no intersection, the road naturally meandered left. Some force of man, some desire for difference, some insecurity, some unspoken difference with the maker, some need for control, some voice for the creator; one or all of the above created the right turn and tried to blend the choice with forever being there, as if it was the natural order of things. Many on the road turned right, to the cheers of waiting onlookers, and entered the straight line for home. I turned left, into the embrace of gypsies selling wonderful hats red velvet hearts attached, to be washed by colour and laughter. © BlindPoet Oct 2011 I have always believed or at least found myself living and acting out the belief that the wide road is the easy road, that if everyone is going one way I am suspicious and look in the other. If everyone thinks this I wonder at what the options are. Even tho in my own way I have been on that colourless right road. right minded, right handed, right footed. Now I wonder. the extrmes of the people on the road of choice have made me examine the intersection and see, so much I held to was in the end man made, that once the road carried on to the left. At 54 it is unsettling to see the ugliness of well meant choices I have grown up making……..I do believe in wisdom and not all the road to the right is wrong. rather it is like Jesus in the temple confronting the things man had made and invented in that space for his own gain, and the rules he had interpreted to make himself the benefactor of the wisdom………..Jesus threw them out of the temple. The enemies of Christ were the religious right, the pharisees who made others lives misery by interpreting the law and enforcing their view of God and faith on others. they started the right road…………… i am turning left…………and wrote this No man is an island
To the right are things that I have held to and believed, without really wondering too much about, and in believing them felt noble and to have some privileged handle on truth, and attached happiness to my holding of them. Latter times in my life however, those beliefs and some who hold them have used them to slash me so that I am a man marred beyond recognition to myself. To the right is an old me, and faith tenets I wonder about, and if really I wonder if lived as the inheritor of some huge grace, if I lived in freedom, since goodness and well being were in the end the confluence of beliefs and actions. To the right is a narrow corridor, in black and white with streetlights blazing the way.
To the left I am called by my tiredness of always having turned right.
I turned left to keep being a creation, destined for good things, to get the colour back into my cheeks and lose weight by the intrigue of the next bend in the road.
i got off the couch and started to live.
But I try to live on one
All roads lead to Rome
But after many roads I have never been there
All things happen for a reason
But I an still waiting to find out
Everything works out in the end
But I keep living in between
The jury is still out
But will they do justice
Justice is a woman
But is she holding scales or a sickle?
© BlindPoet Oct 2011
