Quiet…quiet…slow…no deadlines. I almost feel as though I might slip under the crowd of humanity and arrive at my destination without anyone noticing I passed by. If I move too quickly, he will arise almost without my noticing and be miles away down roads of sanctioned futility before I awaken: my rabbity ego…he waits eagerly the slightest breaking of the silence. A look to the right or to the left is all that it takes.
Yet, the world moves along so fast and constantly beckons to me to get a move on. It has been this way for as long as I can remember. And so I try. I muster my energy and strive along with the rest of them and I am swept away in the current…lost in thoughts, aspirations, racing along toward the precipice with the rest of the sheep, my eyes hazed over with visions of a horizon that promises all that is “out there” and alluring, everything but the ever sure step that is before me.
And yet that is all there is. Another step. And the world insists I have gone mad to not be rushing along with the rest of them. They insist that rush they must and so must I. Oh that I could die to my self once and for all and give up the death race! But still, even now as I write this, there is only the next sure step there before me. Quiet down…slow…do not arouse him now from his slumber. If we are still as we pass, we will make our way along and be home before he wakes.
A poem by John Burroughs:
Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.
The waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delight.
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.