He came one night to my home in Seattle, bursting through the door with wild talk of mission, vision and purpose.
He was road-weary, wild-eyed and reeked of the drama he had been drinking. In short, I believe him to have been full of a particularly desperate panic that caused him to chase his own tail while I simply awaited his energy to run out. I can say these things now, for he and I have become roommates, but back then…. well, I hated him outright.
We fought like beastly men, defending our positions, proclaiming our right to our lives and our paths, him the intruder, me the victim.
I came in the doorway, into that seemingly empty place that overlooked the harbor, the place where the barges blew their horns under the cover of night.
He was there, sitting, waiting for me. I mean, can you imagine the shock of finding somebody squatting in your apartment?
I was polite at first, asking him to leave, for he was obviously mistaken in where he thought he was. I yelled out my name, threatened him with legal action, pleaded, begged, but it was of no use. The man would not budge no matter how kind or ruthless I became. My lease was in hand and he was standing in the way of my progress through myself, proclaiming that he had always lived in this place and that I had no right to be here.
It was then that I looked at him, looked at the way his eyes stared at me. I’d seen that haunted look before in myself, and through it, I truly _saw_ his position.
He was stagnating slowly, spinning himself around in lazy circles that he could not possibly see. He had lost his sense of what was sacred and what was beautiful. However, he was the worst of the sleepers, the ones who have known the dawn but who choose to return to sleep. He seemed to be endlessly waiting for something, quiet in his demeanor and his poise, but he had no idea what he was waiting for. I can say these things now, for he and I have become roommates, but back then…. well, I hated him outright.
We fought like beastly men, defending our positions, proclaiming our right to our lives and our paths, him the intruder, me the victim.
My life, two equal paths. Each crossroads has exactly two choices and one is never above the other, but are simply equal options. In Columbus, before my eventual departure, I had been given the choice to go to Seattle three times and had chosen instead to remain on the path I was walking. Three invitations declined.
By the time the fourth opportunity arose, the gap between the two paths had grown so large that it would require a leap to clear what once was just a step. I decided to make the jump, knowing that it was not the right thing to do, but a different thing to do.
I entered onto this path, taking with me all of what was, never considering the fact that what had been was already progressing. The pieces of my soul that had already gone to Seattle had already been growing, learning, living.
A year later, I arrive only to meet myself in the place we had agreed upon. We met face-to-face, both of us completely surprised by that meeting, and as wolves that encounter each other in the wild, we went at each other’s throats. Each of us dominated and indeed completely suppressed the other during this sumo-like circling, and each of us found no release or hope in any position.
Upon our joint path now pour contradictions in positions. We both have our own visions of the future, our own desires and dreams, our own views of life based on what we’ve been through. Both of us, of course, only wish the freedom to walk where we are led to walk.
And yet… we have to unify and walk the same direction.