lines in the umbra

No poetry today, folks.  Sorry.  But it is about poetry, obliquely.

I had been feeling a certain lack of something in my poetry...that may have been an ability to write poems on subjects other than myself and my own experiences.  In order to break free of that limitation, I knew that I would have to do something I am usually very wary of:

I WOULD HAVE TO EXPERIENCE THE ACTUAL WORLD.

The one with other people in it, especially people I don't know already.  To achieve that goal, I hit on a straightforward plan:  start going for daily walks in a crowded area, people-watching.

Luckily for me, I work at a university, so there are always crowds (for certain sparser definitions of crowd).  So, today at lunchtime, I hit the bricks, glancing peripherally at everybody I passed, searching for some mote of inspiration.

It was a complete bust (or so I thought).  I saw some interesting people, and overheard some interesting things, but I had trouble giving them my attention; you see, they were competing with the fantastically amazing stuff going on in my own head!  Of course, in retrospect, my head doesn't come up with nearly such fantastic things when it hasn't gone for a walk recently, so there's that positive to dwell on.

I can't even touch on the wonder and majesty of what I saw.  As I walked, admiring the architecture and natural beauty of campus (there weren't that many people to look at, since it was raining), I was shocked to see a glowing line extending ahead of me, marking out my walking path.  Looking ahead down that line, I realized it represented not feet, but years; I turned and saw similar lines, fainter, on walking paths I might have chosen.  I understood then that I was looking at more than just a bunch of walking paths; I was looking at paths of future possibility.  These were the manifold paths of my destiny.

I was a little discomfited by the sight, because so many of them were just going in circles in the same place.  I could tell that these meant, if I so chose, I could become a fixture at Villanova; I could ingrain myself into this place so fully that I would never leave, nor would I even want to.  There's nothing inherently wrong with those paths, either; there is honor there, and respect, and comfort, and happiness.  But precious little excitement.

So I shook my head and continued along, taking a few dark turns and winding up next to the train tracks.  There is no attempt to beautify that part of campus, merely rows of parked cars sidled up against some enormous, jealously immobile machines of unknown purpose that belch out steam and noise all day and night.  Dirt, gravel, and metal worked together to help me forget what I had seen in the prettier parts of campus.  I soon grew bored with the view, and looked up into the sky, and stopped in my tracks.

There were more paths, tracing blazing arcs across the grey sky, majestic lines in the umbra that unveiled the greatest of my potential futures.  The mightiest of these revealed that, if I want, if I choose, I have it in me to become the unquestioned King of the World, to rule over all of it.  But it also showed me the cost of this cup of glory:  any world which called me its King would surely be a miserable place, and I would be miserable ruling it.  I'm not sure if my rule would make the world awful, or if the world would have to be awful before I could rule it; all I know is that I do not desire that future.

I tore my eyes away from those lines in the sky, afraid of what other temptations might await me there.  I quickened my pace, head down, and noticed a thin, pale line curving away along the ground.  I looked along it, and saw the life it could carry me to -- a difficult life, a hungry life, but a life so sweet and joyous that I could never have imagined it before today.

I knew that weak and winding path would have to be followed very closely; it would be so easy to lose sight of it.  I knew that it would lead me far away from most of what I've known before.  But I also knew that it would lead me to a greater happiness than I could ever know from being comfortable.

That path is faint, it is strange, and it is very, very long.  But nothing worth having comes easy, and I no longer feel the need to look for other roads to travel.