19 Aug 2004

I am not one who has ever traveled the straight course, always to the road. I am a wanderer. I am often carried by the wind to places I did not know were there. I think sometimes that I am very little responsible for much of my life’s courses; it is like I am a feather blown by the breezes. I am thankful that I have come this far, blind as I am to where my foot will land the next step I take — I am fortune’s meager pawn. And the sum of the good in myself, any of the good I have done, somehow I think it is an accident — that if I were to have tried to do the right thing, it would have turned afoul. Accidental virtue, I recognize, is perhaps very little credit to a soul.

Has control always been an illusion? I would like to believe that, I think, seeing as I seem to have so little command of my life. We take whatever situation presented us and make do — we wander astray unaware that the road we travel is not the one we believe we’re on. We are each of us only human; we are small and the world is large; the universe is little changed if we exist or are not. I find I must put my trust in a higher voice — that I must acknowledge my smallness and my frailty. I cannot be left to myself; I have faltered and fallen before, and I will always find some way to fail if I go it alone.

I remember, now, what it was to lie on my back and face the sky midnight blue, myriad stars scattered throughout the canopy of night — to face it alone. How much the larger I was, back then, the whole world at my grasp. But however great I thought I was, those salad days when I was yet strong and unbroken, it was much the lesser treasure than what I have now: the courage to be as small as I am, in a world so much larger.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:07 am

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