Making The First Move

As they did last night, the skies have opened up and are raining down their gloominess above my head.  And, as it did last night, my heart responds in kind.

I often sit late into the night and put into words what my heart feels, asking the reader to feel it as well—the tears, the pain, the emptiness—eventually reaching a conclusion before I stop writing—a conclusion which shares what my head tells me.

The conclusion is what I want to feel, what I want to experience.

Sometimes what I want is not what I get, and vice versa. 

I suggested, when last I wrote, that it was time to turn the corner and move on in the new direction.  Against my better judgment, and disregarding my fears, I would move on. 

Towards home.

Yet here I sit, in the turn lane still.  My arm is raised, signaling my intent.  My feet are glued to the pavement, with no response to the instructions from my brain.  The traffic lights overhead have cycled endlessly; the motorists behind me, tiring of blowing their horns, are going around this idiot refusing to move.

You’ve been here too, haven’t you?

So, here we sit, rain falling around us and inside of us.  It’s dark out here, as well.  How do we start again?

Perhaps, home is a goal too lofty, and still so very far away.  I wonder—could we just push the pedals once? 

Then, we’ll see what comes next.

Just once.

 

 

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
          Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home—
          Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene, —one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor pray’d that Thou
          Shouldst lead me on.
I lov’d to choose and see my path; but now
          Lead Thou me on!
I lov’d the garish day, and spite of fears,
Pride rul’d my will; remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blessed me, sure it still
          Will lead me on,
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till
          The night is gone;
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have lov’d long since and lost awhile.

(John Henry Newman ~ British Roman Catholic Cardinal ~ 1801-1890)

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.

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