The Way

All my life I have looked for the truth and found it mostly hidden among the fairy tales. 

Some of them point to the way while others only obscure the view.  As a child it seemed so clear, so simple.  I didn’t know anything else.  The fairy tale was as real as breakfast upon the table and I came to that table every morning.

Then people began to name the things before me and tell me all the rules for eating and the light began to dim.  I knew the meat was not just bacon, but I couldn’t tell them what it was and I knew that even if I never came to that table again I would never lose sight of what drew me there.

Truth is such a mystery; any attempt at naming it or defining it only diminishes it.

I can’t tell you what it is, only that it is glancing. It struggles to reach out with love when it would seem no love is warranted.  It perseveres no matter what.

The path will all the street signs blinds me, drives me away.  The one I walk is lit from within and I never doubt for a moment it is there.