Polytheists, Paths, Peaks, and Pilgrims

We are the inheritors, most recently, of the monotheistic tradition. But in the deeper roots of our past, and in the vast majority of our habits, we reveal ourselves to be polytheists. We do not commit ourselves to a narrow lifestyle or worldview. On the contrary, we seek diversity and variety in our interests and activities. We are not ascetics, intent upon a single, shining goal. We are distracted by a thousand points of light, scattered through open space. We've seen beyond our own sun.

We want to explore and imagine other worlds. We want to see through the eyes of every head. In our dreams, we do not fix our hearts on a single object or experience, but on countless shapes and shades. We want to know everything. We want to see what can be seen, and affirm whatever can be affirmed. We want to be taught and tested by every god. We love the mountains for the mountains, and the sea for the sea, without thinking to ourselves that it is All One God we love.

Can we fix our hearts on a single object, person, or ideal? Perhaps. But can we fix them on the Whole? How do we fix them? Where do we drive the nails? Who wants to hang on the cross?

We are more eager to meet our guides, than to bless our God. We want to linger in the valleys and villages, and speak deep with the people we meet. We want to follow the same path, hand-in-hand, with a stranger or a friend. But every while there's a split. And on the sharpest peaks, two can never walk abreast.

Have you heard of the man who climbed until he reached the summit? He balanced there for but an instant, before the plummet. I'm told it's the only way down. I guess nobody has the patience to descend.

Poor pilgrim... All day long, the sun is your companion, but every night, she takes her leave. The shadows grow colder, and shadows are your only cover. Some men have answers, like children have teddybears, to cling to in the dark. Cuddly mock-ups of the real thing. But you've just got an empty cup. You cling to it like the last grain of rice, drying like a drop.

Poor Pilgrim

without a bed,
or something for your head

how do you sleep at night?

"with the light on,
with the light on"

and when you go out,
even the shadows are bright

how do you find your way home?

"with the light on,
with the light on"

and if you've got no place
to call your own

how do you know you're there?

"with the light on,
with the light on"