life

We are taught that we meet forks in the road and we must choose one, that it is impossible to walk two roads at once.

But what if life is not a chaotic array of paths set before us with an assumption that there is somewhere we must go? That there must be a place behind us and a place ahead of us.

This metaphor for life troubles me. What does it make of the present? There is only a time before this moment and a time after this moment. This moment is only–what? Momentum?

No matter how wide a road may be, there are boundaries to the left and right; while we may veer side to side, the direction is ultimately backward or forward.

What if, instead, life were an open field? What if we were not travelers on a path but explorers learning the landscape?

What if we were meant to discover patches of bright daises, stumble into mysterious caves, meander through dark forests, dive into cool lakes, soak in secret hot springs? To dwell in all of these places, to get lost and frightened, to revel in sweetness.

What if the ultimate end were not to get somewhere, but to know as much as possible of what is here?

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