path Cicero this step sounds like regret I think for the last I took down this avenue 040131 ... belly fire I have waited for your return. *smiles* 040201 ... handel Once upon a time there was a traveller. Coming to cross-roads, he was faced with three paths. "Come this way!" called the fresh grass of the path to his left. "Down this path is that which you desire; your greatest wish and grandest whim will be attended to if you come down this path." "But what value is there to my desires if I do not merit them? What satisfaction if I do not strive for them?" asked the traveller. "Then come this way!" wailed the cold stone of the path to his right. "Down this path is that which you fear; you must face and overcome your greatest anxiety, struggle through the utmost difficulty if you come down this path." "And do I get no reward at the end of it? How is man to tolerate his burdens if he has no hope for the future?" asked the traveller. "Then come this way!" beckoned the golden path before him. "Down this path lies the possibility of everything you have ever hoped for; you will forever be looking to the future and feeling you are closer to what you dream for." "If hopes are forever believed and never realised, are they not but delusions?" asked the traveller. But he received no answer, for the three paths had spoken. The traveller sat, resting his chin on his hand, and contemplated; as the world around him aged and grew, he remained, constant and unchanged. For three seasons he sat, debating through wind, snow and rain, watching the trees fade, die and be reborn. In the summer, he finally stood, picked up his belongings, and joyously proclaimed "I shall tread the grassy path." As he wandered along this path, the Sun thronged the grass, the nightingales proclaimed the beauty of the world and a stream whispered beside him. He contentedly thought of the paradise that lay before him, but after travelling for many months, he was dismayed to find that he had somehow returned to the cross-roads, and was faced with the same three paths. "Why am I here?" demanded the traveller. "All men desire choice above all else," replied the verdant pathway. "You cheated me!" he cried, and without thinking stormed along the stony path to his right. As he raced along this path, clouds obscured the light, ravens began to circle him, and thunderous rain spawned stinking stagnant pools through which he ran. Anxiously he dreaded whatever nightmare he would have to face at its end, but to his dismay he found he had again returned to the cross-roads. "What am I doing here?" he yelled, in shock and frustration. "All men fear entrapment above all else," replied the chill slab path. "You will destroy me!" he sobbed. "But there is another path yet to try." He raised his head and looked up the path before him. As he fled down the gilt pathway, he found it was locked in a state of ceaseless spring, with the flower buds hinting at their coming splendour, the swallows nesting still over their eggs and glorious showers sometimes superseding the Sun. He was overcome with the thought that at the end of this path was that which he most hoped for. He came back to the crossroads several times, but it did not matter, because reaching the end of the path before him was all that mattered, and as he was looking forward to that, he cared not how long the journey was to get there. He asked nothing of this path, for it never ceased to promise everything, although it never gave anything. As he walked this eternal, changeless pathway, the traveller began to age and wither. One day, wearied with decades of wandering, he stopped, and sat where he was. It did not surprise him that he was again at the cross-roads where he had begun, but he did not mind, because now he was come to his journey’s end. "Which path am I to take now?" he asked of the grass, of the stone and of the gold. "The path from which you came," replied the grass. "The path from which you came," replied the stone. "The path from which you came," replied the gold. "Come this way," said the dark path whence he had at first emerged. The traveller was startled; he did not know that this primary path could speak, for the dark path can only tell its simple secret to those at the end of their journey. Suddenly lightened of his burden, suddenly free from delusion, suddenly open to joy, he danced this path of shadows and celebrated each moment. 040606 ... o n m to wellness ... 100415 ... nr there are more forks than anyone warns you about 220111 ... unhinged i know that forest well enough that i have my route through it, like a time honored tradition. i take the unpaved paths that mostly animals tread. sometimes children in the field yell 'there's a person in those woods!' as if i don't belong there. so i linger longer, like a hermit on her mountain, like a witch that frightens all the neighborhood kids. i gather flotsam that i take home and place on my nature altar. i snap photos that i send around the world with the touch of a finger. i eventually feel brave enough to face the little voices and emerge from the woods head held high, no eye contact for the hostile little eyes that watch me like an enemy. baba yaga has a hut in these woods but i haven't seen her recently. beware that old crone little ones; i am not what you fear. i am just brave enough to go into the woods, looking, finding, breathing free for once. many of the trees here are better friends than people. many of them are infected with a fungal blight that is killing them. by the time you are my age there won't be a forest here anymore. at the end of the shining path is a great reward if you are brave enough to seek it. 220120 what's it to you? who go blather from