They put me on a moving sidewalk,
And said, "Son, here's a compass and here's a map. See you THERE! Bon voyage!"
First, I threw out the compass – it was all broken.
The map was written ten million years ago – in beautiful cursive.
It went into the next trash bin I saw.
Oof! How do I get THERE now ?
Hopping
from
one
moving
sidewalk
to the next –
I thought, what is THERE anyway?
Must every waking moment be devoted to getting THERE?
How many waking moments are left to me anyway?
Jumping off the autowalk I stopped to catch a breath.
I noticed OTHERS like me –
Fellow travelers, with broken compasses and outdated maps,
Befuddled by the pathway,
Searching spastically for signs that lead THERE,
Some excited, seething with fervor,
like Ahab searching for Moby Dick.
Some less enthused
When I called out to some, they pretended not to hear.
Yet some said there was room on their sidewalk for me.
A bit of guitar playing and wine. An interlude in the mad play.
The road
is
still
zigzagging
like
hell,
But at least we are all getting lost together.
The sidewalk does not care about any of it
– it just keeps moving...
You can jump off of one moving walkway
and
jump
onto
another –
does it really matter in the end?
Maybe the important thing
is not getting THERE,
but the friends you make along the way.