Full Posts from Sat, 31 Jul 2010 12:33:12 -0400 http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-87VMETNoneMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-87VMEThttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-87VMETfor Nick, 1982-2010


There's a shout from the water:
a man is struggling with the current,
his mouth fills as he goes under.]]>Sat, 31 Jul 2010 12:33:12 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=E352E979501D649985257771005AEE49http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=E352E979501D649985257771005AEE49http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-878GVEPoetryMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-878GVEhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-878GVE]]>Sat, 10 Jul 2010 08:40:34 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=E72F0C2C403D83F48525775C0045A1DDhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=E72F0C2C403D83F48525775C0045A1DDhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86X495TravelMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86X495http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86X495The warung was four walls and a roof, twelve tables and a door, twenty-four slight and elegant locals, one pallid westerner, and me.]]>Wed, 30 Jun 2010 21:53:42 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=3D69A42B4FEB4A7285257753000A68E3http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=3D69A42B4FEB4A7285257753000A68E3http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86S7QRPoetryMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86S7QRhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86S7QR]]>Sat, 26 Jun 2010 00:52:20 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=488041777BCA98628525774E001AC3D6http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=488041777BCA98628525774E001AC3D6http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86D62RNoneMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86D62Rhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-86D62RFirst I believed in magic, and then I didn't, but that was only because I had learned - or been taught - the wrong definition.

You see, when the faeries existed, back then, when the spirits existed, they really did exist.]]>Sat, 12 Jun 2010 23:25:54 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=DB0D1714D060543E852577410012D9D2http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=DB0D1714D060543E852577410012D9D2http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-84E3LJMusicMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-84E3LJhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-84E3LJSpring has arrived with its signature flourish. I enjoy the recognition. It began years ago with delight

The snow's crust hardened then softened, then became lace through which the roadside stream could be seen, happily (did my happiness make that water happy?) spilling and tumbling downhill past our home.]]>Sat, 10 Apr 2010 21:20:46 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=3E2527838AD7825C852577020007652Chttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=3E2527838AD7825C852577020007652Chttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7ZZ8HKFood for ThoughtMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7ZZ8HKhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7ZZ8HKSomewhere among the trials of innocence, lessons of winning and losing.

And then: that young mind, that open heart, has almost no distance to travel, from saying "I won" to "I'm right", and... ah! Then my dear hearts, dear children, you have lost your sight, your liberty of movement, and each step forward will be a step to be retraced.]]>Sun, 24 Jan 2010 00:32:00 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=AA9B20C91B8C455A852576B5001E656Chttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=AA9B20C91B8C455A852576B5001E656Chttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7ZL8HAFood for thoughtMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7ZL8HAhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7ZL8HAThere are two kinds of roads.

I see the first so clearly: I can allow my eyes to drop from the horizon for a moment, and there are my feet, one before the other, one after the other, while the world slips away underneath a pace at a time. That's about two yards, if I am running, or one if I am walking with purpose, and maybe only a foot if I am sad and feeling slow. I can close my eyes and see that progress. I can close my eyes and feel my weight, feel the world's attraction, and the gentle roll of heel-to-toe that's like a dance, we learn to stand and swing to it, and make our lives the music of accompaniment. Those magical shoes you put on early and can't take off, that dance you to joy and to sorrow, from birth to death.

I guess there have been enough paths in my history, I don't need to walk to feel the walking: here's a path of black cinder from an old lava flow, with its chalkboard scraping sounds of almost-glass against almost-glass; another trail of tumbled granite at the top of the world; and then the stairway of stone (stone again!) worn down by the feet of countless pilgrims, on their way to some temporary salvation.

There were softer roads, that felt my passage and then quickly covered it up: maybe winter's wind blew snow across my way, or ocean's wind, loose sand, or leaves or other light debris sailed across my trail, and left my footsteps scuffed, untraceable. There I was: there I was not. There are two kinds of roads, and one of them is met by the bones and by the body's sinew.

The other kind needs a guide. And you are it.

Usually, when I am traveling inward, I walk along the lighted avenues that those before me cleared so well. Usually, the inward road (where my calloused feet cannot wander) is to remembered places and comfortable benches and sunsets and glasses of sipped wine and smiling eyes... smiling eyes and those little gestures of affection, a hand that reaches just for the joy of touching me, or the play of minds as a joke unfolds like legerdemain, as much surprise for the speaker as it is for those who listen.... Usually. It is fine, really, to have places we remember here inside, where we felt warm and safe, sanctuary from the winds and waves outside, where everything is right, and our way of being and seeing is contented with small things.

The road inward has those broad avenues.

You know, though... what attracts me are the alleys and the byways, those twisting trails that lead perpendicular to my direction of travel, small tributaries or siphons that drop a few unique souls from the hinterlands onto the main highway, or steal them away from these populous regions onto a wild chase into the trees, up and over the ridge, to heaven knows where! I am attracted to the unexplored, because there is something much larger than me, larger these small ideas I carry like a moth-eaten comforter around my shoulders. Oh, there are edges of the universe too large for my conception, and an endpoint to this my life which is rather too difficult to grasp.

So, I think: there's something there will open my eyes wide. Maybe over that hill? Maybe around that curve of the road? Maybe in her arms. Maybe in the next song. Maybe tomorrow.

When I speak of the inward road, I am not talking about a particular way of going. Yes, sure, you can meditate; sometimes the eyes of the heart are more open when you are still like that. Or you can watch your feelings as they dash and spark through the mystery of yet another day alive. You meet someone, you shy away: what was that about? You meet another, and your hackles (should humans still have hackles) rise, ready for a fight. Or you can just live your life and do your best to notice what goes on, down the Well, what you can change, what you cannot; how you might open; how you might not.

I think that on the external road, you meet everything that is not you, and have to hear its echo and make its metaphor of yourself. And on the internal road, you meet nothing but yourself, and must find your echo and your metaphor in the ten thousand things that meet your eyes. If you do decide to stray from "I am perfect because I think it so", or even if you don't, sooner or later you must meet a self that is not as welcome, the tough teacher, the one who throws the windows open and shouts "Come outside!": see you, just as blind and hurtful as those you judge, just as fragile and just as strong... just such a sweet heart and just such a brute. What that road brings is a poignant clarity to all of your aches. You know what hurts: don't you feel it every day? Don't you dream it at night? The distance growing between you and your love, and you powerless to change it? The aging of your children as they become masters of their own lives; their departure from your home and from your influence... and from the warmth of your arms: no, far worse, those small and precious bundles of life that were like sunlight in your arms, you carried them as though you embraced the sun, and now... that time is past, and your arms feel useless, empty now, and cold.

What I find at times along the inward road is really quite anguished. I have to stop and give the sad creature crouched there some needed attention, some Good Samaritan nurturing, if I am able to evoke the Samaritan in me to tend myself. And other times, there are flowers and images of such beauty. Sometimes my eyes in that mirror are gentle, and so strong, and so welcoming of love. Sometimes the scars and lines on the face show a resilience and a strength of purpose that leaves me quite breathless.

Sometimes I just see a life, a stranger in the street, making his way to work.


What a preamble!

All I meant to say was that... on the inward road the other day I found another place where I was just human, after all, smaller than I imagined, and needing human help to rediscover trust, again, again, when the door of the heart has been closed against hard weather, and the body contracts like a shell around that stain. ]]>Mon, 11 Jan 2010 00:31:34 -04001http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=0A0AD2C34D8ED01C852576A8001E5B66http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=0A0AD2C34D8ED01C852576A8001E5B66http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7WF3QNNoneMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7WF3QNhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7WF3QNThe illusion of independence begins with the snip of the umbilical, is furthered with a slap, is fulfilled as we are weaned, walk, and then withdraw to our own beds; we lean into our own efforts, rise to our own challenges, inflate with what we perceive to be our personal successes, deflate before our personal defeats. We desire a fruit, find it, and bring it to these lips: so the feeling of hunger passes.]]>Sat, 21 Nov 2009 00:00:00 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=8D1D0C94AD8F1B63852576430007FF48http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=8D1D0C94AD8F1B63852576430007FF48http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7XM9DYFood for thoughtMark T Schultzhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7XM9DYhttp://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/d6plinks/MTSZ-7XM9DYI.

The waning moon has turned this hour above the crowns of trees, and spilled its liquid light into the yard. So this evening is accompanied by a shadow of sun's heat.]]>Mon, 9 Nov 2009 01:17:32 -04000http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/CommentsRSS?Open&id=E08680C2C93744718525766900229083http://www.thewaywest.com/blogs/WellLitPath.nsf/PostComment?RunAgent&id=E08680C2C93744718525766900229083