Chasing after the world
Allowing it all to come to me
I tire of the chase.
My dreams are fraught with places of peace past–roadhouses–where like Blake, I see a world in a grain of sand. I don’t know how else to allow the world. I really don’t.
So, I’m looking for a roadhouse.
But just because I am looking does not mean one is round the bend. Nor do they all look-alike or offer the same accommodations. Each is a world within a world. In the 21stcentury, roadhouses are as virtual as they are brick-and-mortar.
I am merely on the road.
Still, it feels like a roadhouse is on the horizon. I’ve come to trust the road, one life experience after another. I can only live one moment at a time. For that, I’m increasingly grateful.
It gets me from one roadhouse to the next, no matter the explosion of experience. I know it won’t last. What does is the road, one bend after another, both chaos and peace assured.
I hold my map close, a treasure in itself with its ways to the heart of the world. It is why I live, this journey, and just when I believe I am wearier than the world, a roadhouse appears.
I used to think it was magic. Now I know there is nothing mystical or magical about it. It’s equanimity, opening myself to the chaos rather than chasing the world.
Roadhouses are impermanent as they should be. It is the road that ever awaits. Some I will visit only once but each experience lightens my load. Journeys change, and the map provides.
Just the sight of a roadhouse renews my heart. Who knows what other pilgrims have arrived to rest or to spy. Peace does not exist in a vacuum.
The look and style of roadhouses may have changed over the centuries but human nature is still both sides of the sword.
We still like to tell stories of life as we knew it, so sure of what was round the bend. Then, life was transparent, which it tends to be viewed through a lens past. Nonetheless, it is the stuff of songs.
Days later, I might hum a refrain or two, the roadhouse memory warm in its transparency. We either enrich an experience or we steal from it. Maybe both. The road is well-worn with intention.
It’s exhausting to face the world, slice through its webs of façade to reveal its heart. It is not always love or light.
In such darkness, I look to the night sky. No roadhouse quite like it, every star sending itself through miles of time and darkness. Such as it is, I bring my light to sit a roadhouse dark.
*Thank you, Craig Reader, for the Zen Gatha. ❤
Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.
I love that phrase “the stuff of songs.” Looking back on stories of the past, hoping for a glimmer of meaning, if not transparency, is indeed the stuff of songs.
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