Once when I was alone,
I went for a walk in the woods.
The sun was low and
its fading rays filtered through the canopy.
As I walked alone, I found myself
being lifted up into the air.
The ground slowly gave way and
my feet dangled in thin air.
A slight breeze stirred my body
as I rose up through the clouds.
There I was met by a man,
sitting on a cloud.
“Why are you alive?” He asked.
“Shouldn’t you know that?” I asked him.
He looked at me with twinkling eyes,
A wise smile on his weathered lips,
And a face more cracked than a piece of parchment.
“Being alive and living are two different things.” He said.
“Some people are just alive, and they go through the motions
of being alive as if it were a chore.
Others are truly alive, they live as if life were a gift.
So tell me why you’re alive.”
I wondered about what this man was trying to tell me,
and more about what he was asking of me.
I reached out and touched a cloud,
Raindrops passed through my fingers,
As soft as air.
I looked down at the world,
At the woods, the fields, the cities and the stones,
I knew, somewhere down there, were people I loved,
Places I had walked, things I had built and paths I had chosen.
If I fell right now, what would happen to everything?
Destiny is not mapped out like roads and rivers,
Rather, it is like the stars and constellations,
Someone might tell you that there lies Orion, Sagittarius, Libra, The Big Dipper
But you draw your own path, you connect your own stars.
I looked at this man,
With his eyes of infinite knowledge
“I am alive because you don’t exist.”
And he smiled, the knowledge in his eyes deepened,
And I was let down, slowly.
Except for a little bump when I touched down.
I continued my walk, marvelling at the sky, the colours of the leaves, the flowers,
And I was content.
Wednesday, June 17 2009