Sunday, April 13, 2014

That Which Lies Beneath Your Feet

[NOTE:  On Palm Sunday, contemplating Holy Week, I have been moved to consider each step along the way presenting a whole cast of characters, many unnamed, in the unfolding drama of it all.  This week is devoted to those 'characters', the first of which is the road taken.]

You walk upon me all the time unaware . . . scarcely needing to cast a downward eye to assure a safe tread . . . for I have seen to all of that for you . . . removing the rocks which routinely fall from the center of my flat pathways . . . for you . . . 

The animals and I worked together to make me the pathway that I am . . . a meandering, curving thing, taking you first this way and then that . . . slowly, every so slowly wending toward that which you seek . . .The Holy City . . . 

I see your excitement as it comes into view . . . I am glad for you . . . but always a little sad, too . . . as you rush forward with no thought of me . . . the mountain road you so eagerly leave behind . . . 

Was the view too harsh for your delicate eyes, with its sun-glaring whiteness?  Did you mistake the blending together of all you saw for dullness . . . or lack of life?  Did you miss the creatures and the grasses and the trees bursting forth even in the worst of the dry times?

Or perhaps my dust offended you . . . rising up in greeting and welcome, did you receive it not as the gift it is intended to be, but only as an annoyance to be gotten through as quickly as possible?  How could you not know I was welcoming you with flung star dust . . . surrounding you with the very rings of Saturn?

Did you really think my gift was nothing . . . have you really forgotten that I greet you as one dust brother to another?

Did you think it was an accident that I wend towards a destination?  Did you think that no planning or effort was involved in scratching out from the millennia a path for your delicate two-footed existence to navigate with ease?

As you leave behind your palm branches and gather up your coats, won’t you look back, if only for a moment . . . and remember me . . . the path you trod to get where you’re going?

No comments:

Post a Comment