At some point you reach that moment, not exactly the one you have been striving for but one that you have been walking towards all along. Seated upon the bench along the way perhaps it is easy to understand that this is but one of many such benches and many have sat here before. In the end, this was not your goal but here you are, at a place you had not planned to be at when you had first started traveling your spiritual landscape. You’ve been told what lay down this path and thus far everything is nothing and exactly like the map said it would be. Would the same prove so for the rest of the journey?
But what of the goal, there was clearly one when you started? Since then you have learned that the goal will never be reached if it is the focus but instead the path should be the goal. So is the path the goal or isn’t it? At this moment the goal can be either in the distance in some far away land that can never be reached by foot, learning to fly can’t be that hard, or the goal can be to enjoy what has been found. The question then is no longer the same but an inward reflecting one. What exactly has been found?
Looking down at worn boots and dusty traveling clothes the marks of the journey are easy to see and the road though unclear at times can be recalled. Was this what was found? Dirt? The feeling is there that a wise man or woman would smile knowingly and say that it is what is below the grim that has been found. This is hard to judge as the grim obscures and it is hard to tell if the flesh, blood, and bone are the same. Maybe at the next stop there will be a tub with some water and maybe a bit of soap.
Now the questioning that started this whole mess has returned but in a different manner. No longer is the light cast upon the mysterious unanswerable tombs but unto the volumes of the supposedly given. So that is what this bench is a testament of, how one gets here. All the questions that were sought are like far away dreams compared to the all unknowing, and even the questions themselves are up for scrutiny.
It is not dark out, nor night, nor a dilemma of the soul. Or at least if it is then the cloak is one well hidden and hard to lift to see truth, a lapwing in wolf’s clothing. For a moment there it was as if the walking had begun again. Perhaps for a change instead of chasing the moon as does the sun it would be nice to tend the land a bit, grow some crops, and who knows maybe even reap the fruit of the now.