the thicket

not long ago i was lost on a hike. in the moment of clarity i saw the path's before me. i sensed the deeper significance only days later. the quicker path back to the road, i followed. less of an adventure. safer. saved time. and time was definitely a commodity.

but that is not my path. on through the thicket, where there is no path. i think i'm finding the deeper thorns.

if i just lay here and not move, then i can't be cut anymore.

i really want to see "into the wild." you know they rarely tell you about those adventure stories that end up in death. and not any heroic sort of death, but alone and sick. a cruel realist begrudges the movies for their deception, preying on those innocent Romantics. damn fools.

is God the last Romantic? to quote over the rhine.

do all the Romantics die here, lying in the thicket, unable to move or see beyond the layered webs? the road no longer visible. is it here they must grow up? here where they put away hope and dreams and other lofty words? time to live by the rules, the laws to get them out of this tangled mess. the safety of the well-cleared path.

i suppose crawling is an option. but how to really know which is the right direction? there's not much i can see. and if i get lost, the cost will be great. the sun is all that can pierce through, so i'll follow that. but it's such less painful not to move at all.

i will find the way, as soon as i allow myself to listen for it. i will bear the presence i somehow seem to dread, for it is the only way. i will hope, though it seems so foolish, because that is what i've heard so far. i will hang on. i believe in the dawn.