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A Child of Illusion

I need guidance from a pair of eyes that sees my path more clearly than do I.  My hands inch outward, leaving their tense and weary dwelling place clinched tight against my side   - woeful now that I am here, but woeful more that it was so long ere I realized.

I need a guide to walk me o'er this rocky way, a guide not blind like he to be guided.  Ever happily did I walk, to stumble over each pebble.  Ever I thought that I watched the road, but nay, it was some fanciful image of myself.  Peering inward, yet seeing not the heart, neither still and less the road that grew more treacherous by the day.

I needed nothing, so I thought.  But on this quiet winters' eve, by some queer happenstance, I catch a glimpse of my face.  Not the one I thought I wore, but young.  The face of a babe, and younger still.  Not only a face, however, but a being, younger than young.  Crawling still.  Pieces of this daunting puzzle lock themselves, arm in arm.  Yea, a blind babe would often stumble o'er the smallest obstacle….

I need so much, I see at last, not the least to see how much I need.  And so my hands reach further out, fingertips questing to find a loving and all-knowing grasp.  It startles me to see these hands are not those of a scholar, or a warrior strong and wise.  These hands are weak, with fingers small and skin that speaks still of a mother's womb.

I need to go on, to walk the road that before me is set, but now I can't, I desire it not, I dare not move.  All the bruises and grievous tears in the flesh I now feel as if they were fresh.  A reminder of a thousand wrong turns made etched into flesh that I once thought was tempered by my wise and thoughtful mind.

I need to trust.  I need to heed the Director's words that so long I have prayed for, not be dismayed by all the winding off-roads real - and the multitudes again that prove phantasms created by my own cruel thoughts.

I need guidance from a pair of eyes that sees my path more clearly than do I.  So now I stand here, on this dreary winters' eve, with arms outstretched.  I want to reach out even further but my cross and obstinate limbs won't heed my command.  My limit has been reached, my former maps burned away.  My every thought yearns for that mighty hand to grasp and lead - lead on and through the crossroads many.  My hands are open, my arms outstretched, my spirit broken, and all else is but confused.  But here I will wait until that hand comes nigh to lift me off my tattered knees and set me forward once again.  Here I will wait.