For quite some time I have allowed myself to become very busy with multiple projects. They all seemed important, but increasingly I am feeling an inner call to slow down, with more emphasis on connecting to friends than on outer work. “The Path” is a very early poem, from autumn 1984.
The Path The path up the Mountain of Destiny I do not understand All my life I have played a game (And in my heart knew this well.) What lies before me now is new and strange New – because what it is, I do not know Strange – because it is different, unfamiliar. (Even though I know not what it is I know what it is not It is not within the pattern Of my familiar way of life.) Life is becoming serious, earnest I have choices to make and a life to live Not for myself only but for those I love And this love is growing, encompassing wider circles of beings. Like the boy reading The Neverending Story I am reluctant to jump in Seeing myself like him Fat, not very sure of myself. But unlike him I already sense that I am part of the Story And this self-consciousness presents other problems. God, I need you now You too for me have been a kind of game Although easily I have invoked Your name It has been a childlike vow Or a poetic grace I have never seen Your face. “No thought of gain” This too has been a game Now it has to be more real Because of what I think, what I feel. My poems now are not for a crowd They are a way to think out loud They are for me and a few close friends Who with me are climbing that Mountain Our paths are different, but we are not alone. Let us share our hopes and fears In the coming days and years.