Fragile

What a precarious position we find ourselves in. A slick precipice on either side, the thick rain pouring in waves upon you, with only the flashes of the distant lightning to guide your feet. It seemed like only yesterday that I was skipping freely among the daisies and gliding my hands over the tall grass with a smile in my heart, and a laugh in my throat.

I am jealous of my memories. I covet their innocence and their free spirit. Not a care in the world, not even of where I would sleep that night. Surely the birds that listlessly careened around me would lead me to a sanctuary where I could lay my head.

Now my head lays in my calloused hands. Tears streak down my grimy face. A shudder crawls it's way maliciously up my body as the cold seeps in. My legs mock me in their cramped state, as if they know what the future will hold.

There was a time when I would call that carefree person foolish. How could you act so free with the midnight clouds billowing over the horizon, snaking their way towards you. Surely you could not be dumb enough to not anticipate the battles that lie in wait for you, the traps that nip at your ankles wanting to drag you into their subterranean lair. This is a fight for your life, and hardly a time to enjoy the gentle breeze before it grows into a gale.

Then it pierced me like an arrow. Who is the fool? The one who spends the day occupied with where his food is going to be found or whether he will be safe when he lays his head down? Or the one who lets those things worry about themselves and keeps his eyes up. How often do you find those with their heads in the clouds suffocating beneath your feet?

I am the fool. The deep chasms on either side are nothing but landscapes created out of the schisms in my own mind. I'm in the meadow. The scent of the flowers seems so distant in my nostrils, yet their proximity seems to comfort me. The rain soaks me to the bone, but I hear the sonnet of the birds dancing about me and the warmth begins to kindle inside, roaring to life. My legs are atrophied not from the journey, but from sitting. I have forgotten how to use them. The days when I would dance and leap to be one step closer faded away when I allowed my foot to be still, and my ankle entangled.

A glimpse. A ray of light through my clouds. Irradiating me with the truth that has been so absent. "Your sins are forgiven. Get up, take your mat and go home."

I am in the meadow once more.

It is a fragile state of mind we exist in. Draw not your strength from your own wells, for they run dry. Drink of the Living Water, and you will never thirst again. Put your heads firmly in the clouds and pray that it is never yanked to earth.

In my innocence, I wish to be enlightened. In my 'enlightenment' I wish to be innocent. What a foolish man I am.