Men are like wine - some turn to vinegar - but the best improve with age.
Pope John XXIII
It's frightening to look down the tunnel of my past and wonder why so many things are not the way they were. It seems the milk of kindness and mercy that followed me has curdled. The strong right arm has rusted and the joints are stiff. There are hollow places where the bricks of power used to be. The sure words of effectiveness and result now seem weak and lacking. Shunning guilt and failure is now the major move in every day's search. Do the messes matter? There's no going back, Some of them will never be cleaned up. They are the stuff of archeology. The light still shines in my heart. No one to love does not affect the love. The truth is here someplace, I know that. I still search for it. When I am finally broken bread and poured out wine will it still be good or will I be vinegar? Outside my temple I am just a man in the street, But inside I am still a hero to myself. I will not turn on those who have it better than I do. I will not blame the rich nor the poor. I will not blame myself for anything but too few discoveries. I will carry my song through the forest though no one is there to hear it.
Tonight I walked 4 blocks in the dark and freezing rain. When I got here I realized that I had been thinking all the way, not about the treacherous journey to get here nor the nasty weather nor how cold I was, but that everything I do, the walk in the rain, the washing of the dishes, even typing this entry, is not life. They are all the things that go on while real life is happening. I need to become more alert to that.
DB - Vagabond Journeys