Oct 15 2011
The Intersection

I seem to be at a T intersection in my life.
To the right are things that I have held to and believed, without seriously wondering too much about, and in believing them, felt noble and to have some privileged handle on truth; and attached happiness to my holding of them. Latter times in my life however, those beliefs and some who hold them have used them to slash me so that I am a man marred beyond recognition to myself. To the right is an old me, a black & white world, faith tenets I wondered about, and life maybe not lived as the inheritor of some huge grace given to me so freely. To the right I wonder if I had really lived in freedom, since goodness and well being were in the end purely the confluence of beliefs and actions, based on laws carefully disguised by grace. To the right is a narrow corridor, in black and white with streetlights blazing the way, the only colours being a touch of blood red..
To the left is an unfamiliar architecture, there are not as many right angles and straight lines, the street lights glow red and yellow, green, purple sage and orange. There are mythical creatures on the streets, people running stalls full of food I have never tasted or seen, they wear clothes so different to my own, and there is in the road a wonderful meander so that one cannot see around the bend. The left turn is an invitation to exploration and freedom from straight and cutting lines, from dull lifeless processions and predigested thoughts. The holy places on this street have curves, minarets, fountains, statues, turrets and pools. They do not have frontal signs tossing wise tid bits to the masses, or proud patriotic flags flying high like an armies standard. Instead there are long multi-coloured tassles floating in the breeze like they belong to the pavillion of a king, there are kites and balloons floating above a gathering of clowns, jesters, dancers and acrobats.
Looking right I see a long line of largely colourless flags on high poles merging incrementally with the sky, bold street signs tell travellers truths they already know. The crowd walks like a platoon towards the light way distant. People nod and pat each others backs as they pass asking the time. Christ supposedly walks this way, among the throng, maybe dressed in desert storm camo, maybe welcoming home soldiers from the battle for His cause in far off lands, maybe shaking hands and singing with His hand across His heart, God and country are one.
To the left are things I am yet to discover, about life, about faith, about God and about man. About life , the cost of love and the colour blue.
Reflection on the intersection.
As I stand and look at the intersection, at my life right now, I can see that the right turn was a later addition. (now I am an expert by watching many excavations on sky of historic sites). Once there was no intersection, the road naturally meandered left. Some force of man, some desire for difference, some insecurity, some unspoken difference with the maker, some need for control, some voice for the creator; one or all of the above created the right turn and tried to blend the choice as if it had been there forever, as if in the beginning it was the natural order of things. Many on the road turned right, to the cheers of intersection onlookers, they entered the straight line for home, merged and followed.
I turned left, into the embrace of gypsies selling wonderful hats with red velvet hearts attached, to be washed by colour and laughter, beneath a sky of floating tassles.
I turned left to keep being a creation, destined for good things, to get the colour back into my cheeks and lose weight by the intrigue of the next bend in the road calling me forwards.
I got off the couch and started to live.
© BlindPoet Oct 2011
I have always believed or at least found myself living and acting out the belief that the wide road is the easy road, the one most travel in any society, religion or belief system. If everyone is going one way I am suspicious and look in the other direction and wonder why. If everyone thinks this way or that way, I wonder at what the other options are, and not just to be obstinate, or like some kind of I did it my way Frank kind a person. To me it seems the way of the world. People do not like to think, and generally society, the media, religion and western culture doesn’t really encourage thinking and diversity……..but pretends to. Processed thinking is like processed foods. they are not good as a solid diet, in the end they may give you serious health issues. Natural is best. But factories can’t do natural….there would be no profit. Nor is there profit in individual thoughts…………following a different programme…….
In my own way I have been on that colourless right road for lots of my life. I have been right minded, right handed, right footed, right winged, right with God, right with men. Now I wonder about that position of being right! The extremes of the people on the right road have made me examine the intersection and see some truths that I held to so strongly were in the end, man made. That once, the road carried on to the left.
At 54 it is unsettling to see the ugliness of well meant choices I have grown up making……..I do believe in wisdom and not all the road to the right is wrong. Rather it is like Jesus in the temple confronting the things man had made and invented in that space for his own gain, and the rules he had interpreted to make himself the benefactor of the wisdom………..Jesus threw them out of the temple. The enemies of Christ were the religious right, the pharisees who made others lives misery by interpreting the law and enforcing their view of God and faith on others. they started the right road……………they stood at the intersection pointing the way down it, arguing for that being The Way……..scaring people into walking down it
I am turning left…………and wrote this on a piece of paper as some kind of record as to why…..
No man is an island
But I try to live on one
All roads lead to Rome
But after many roads I have never been there
All things happen for a reason
But I an still waiting to find out
Everything works out in the end
But I keep living in between
The jury is still out
But will they do justice
Justice is a woman
But is she holding scales or a sickle?
© BlindPoet Oct 2011














