Life is all a journey as you stumble through the years,
Sometimes through strife and battle and often lonely tears.
Sometimes through days of sunshine, when the soul within you glows
Sometimes in days of certainty, you know the way to go.
Sometimes in bleak confusion, unknowing steps you trace,
But all in all you’ll get there. You too will win the race.
Not one against the other, in striving to compete,
All pushing on and shoving, thrusting others from their feet.
But hand in hand beguiling, each happy golden hour,
The weak and tired enticing to draw upon your power.
Till that gate arriving, when journey meets its end,
You’ll be a man, my brother, a fortress and a friend.
They were almost in sight now. He craned his head to see, the translucent walls of the craft enabling perfect vision. He glimpsed something far ahead a dingy grey/brown splurge on the horizon contrasting with the intense greens with which he had always been surrounded.
He’d never totally believed it, couldn’t comprehend this side of his own humanity, but there it was before his eyes a vast wasteland of decaying iron and concrete. Here and there a feeble tree or bush strove to bring life to the empty mounds, shriveled and corrupted. No, the “trees here were of another nature, bare metal poles and girders, once the support frames of the towers that had been inhabited, what they had been taught was a “city”, a place innumerable humans dwelled encased in glass and concrete, brick and steel. It was beyond his young comprehension.
It was mandatory to make this trip before taking on an adult role in the community, to learn from the mistakes, to take paths of peace, to understand where greed and anger could lead, to be content with the simple life of forest and lake, grasslands and sea. They were safe now, but the lesson had been learned at great cost. It must always be remembered. Hence this trip and so many others as each generation came of age.
The pilot inclined his hand and the vehicle circled whirling back towards the welcoming green haze on the horizon. He of course had no need of the craft, could have been there in an instant. The vehicle was for them, the earthbound, forged of the immense power and light of the being before them. He had always been in awe of the angels.
I’ve been proud of my son many times but never more so than when a beggar came to me with tears in his eyes explaining how my, then teenage, son was the first person in many years that spoke to him with respect as an equal. He said it rekindled his faith in humanity and his own worth..
To be human means of necessity flawed, not perfect. It would be nice if we were demi-gods of some sort with divine wisdom and strength of character, supermen or women，but early on, as childhood banter ceases, we realize perfection eludes us. We either lower the bar or live a life of frustration.
Some transfer their ideas of perfection to others, their partner, government, doctors, evangelists… then, when some awful truth comes to light, abandon them, leaving behind a trail of broken families, law suits and lost faith. Should we then abandon our ideals, cheat, lie, steal and live for “number one”? That road leads to anarchy, hate and destruction.
My philosophy tends to be, aim high but try not to get all bent out of shape if I fail – I’m human right? Of course this is a philosophy which is often flawed by my failure to implement it. I…