It’s probably too easy to assume that I don’t know the end; too early to tell if this relationship will work or crash and burn. Too soon to see what I need to be prepared, too far away from land to know what country I am coming to. But here I am, nonetheless, without any great nugget of spiritual wisdom to bestow, suspended in the seconds that tick by so furiously slow.
It’s probably best, at best, to approach things with caution; to step to the side when I feel a rush charging behind me, lay down when the horns are blown and the swords are raised. It’s probably too much to ask what freedom is, and what cost it demands. It’s probably far too overwhelming for me to feel my lungs rise and fall, full and empty. Such small petty things lose their weight in the world, coming in second to the grander things that demand my attention. But I have heard it said that the bravest thing I have is hope, to fill my lungs, even if it means the taste of smoke.
My cousin lives in this charmingly shanty old house on overlooking a ravine; the view and slanted floorboard lead me to believe that the house will soon meet its end. Maybe one day it’ll find itself in the valley, when it thought it was safe this whole time [“this whole time” being rather subjective, as no one seems capable of telling me exactly how old the failing fortress is]. But it is a cute house, and aesthetics are the important part.
I know certain things about certain things. I know that there are two methods of thought, two tracks on which to concentrate all of your being: these two ways are high and low. I think it has something to do with the gravitational weight of the topics under their roofs. Meditating on good things would fall into the “high” category, conversely bad things can be referred to as “low.” I generally consider things such as greed, lust, dishonesty, bills, taxes, inadequate recycling faculties, trends, transcripts, disrespect, paychecks, impurity, homeless animals, gossip, homeless people, evil, and credit cards to fall into the latter. It’s probably easy to venture a guess at the former. Faith, hope, truth, love, grace, mercy, kindness, meekness, righteousness, music and turkey sandwiches. Maybe also the beach on a fair-weather day.
But that’s as much as I know. Where I find myself now, here with no wisdom to bestow, is on the come-around. The come-back. The place where I ended up after I nearly walked away with no legitimate excuse to walk away, only that I am a coward. The foothill on the edge of the valley, the “high” after the “low.” Because all of the things I lived in when I was down only served to bring me down further, but then I realized that it’s probably better to live like I’m on the foothill because I am well on my way to the mountaintop from the valley, and living like I’m still in the valley isn’t true anymore. It isn’t where I am. It’s where I was before, but dwelling on things like mercy, grace, truth and the reckless pursuit of love is so much better than worrying about my paychecks. Or apparent lacks thereof.
What seems to have happened here, all past tense mind you, is I was under the impression that I was standing on solid ground. And I was, because the dirt beneath my feet wasn’t mud. What I neglected to consider was the placement of my feet on solid ground in terms of proximity to the edge of the cliff. It was only going to be so long before I fell.
It’s probably better not to stay where I am, but it’s probably better to take it all one day at a time. It’s probably better to incline my ear to the truth of the matter than to allow myself to fall further into deceit. It’s probably better to just get in the boat, because at the end of the day I know that if I only have either a map or an adventurous spirit, I’ll soon find myself on land of some sort.
It’s probably okay to live for freedom, because freedom is free…not by cost so much as by virtue. Freedom is available for the sake of being free, for the sake of getting to the safer high grounds. The kind that doesn’t gently slide me down the decline, or simply fall in one fell swoop. The kind that makes things like grace and mercy available, on streets where love casts out all fear.
