THE NARROW PATH AND BEYOND

Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and those who find it are few.

-Christ (Matthew 7:13-14)


The path is definitely narrow there and becomes smaller by the instant. It was hardly there to begin with, and this is because it is so out of the way, meandering, labyrinthine-like, up and up as it follows the contour of the valley ridge. There are parts where if you were to lose your footing, one would fall over thirty or forty feet down. Not straight, no exaggeration here, - and not without some trees to block your fall, - but still, it would not be deemed fun. The path. It is interesting and many things hide on it and at the sides. Once, as I walked it, an actual black snake was coming down. Whether a snake is a snake or a snake is a shape shifter, or a snake is the outward appearance of the auspicious kundalini, or the appearance of darkness, - I do not know. It’s hard to discern sometimes. I just say in my head, Glory be to God in the Highest, and peace to his people on earth. The second part, about the people on earth, is part of the liturgy, and that is how I know it- yet I did not plan on saying it though it comes out, and I am prompted to such. The path. Wide feral shrubs, strange insects hiding, many mosquitoes, sounds in the distances, a frog crocking, sounding like a person’s voice, the area just ahead, near the turn, where sometimes a quick deer, so coy and cautious, is passing and then speeds up and runs away. I continue. The path has only room for my feet, and barely that, - but I can see the earth, the brown dirt, and there are parts of some root systems that stick out, the odd pebble. Imagine, I ponder, muse, or reflect, - how many little lively things of the flora and fauna world are around but not quite seen. I stop, pause, look up, and admire parts of the blue sky. A tree has fallen through lightning, age, disease, or other, and instead of going right over, has braced itself against another tree, a brother, friend, cousin, or some kind of kin for they look the same. One is living and one is dead. The forest area is a beauteous song of dishevelment t on the outside but surely it has a secret and inner logic, cadence, rhythm, and heart. I follow the path, going and going and going some more.




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