The Path
This is my path.
It is not your path, it is mine.
Good or bad, it is my path.
I must travel my path alone.
That is your path.
It is not mine or theirs, it is yours.
Good or bad, it is your path.
You must travel your path alone.
At times our paths might intersect
Or, run parallel for a while.
We will visit, laugh, and cry.
Exchange experiences and offer advice.
At some point, we may part
Perhaps to join up again
As our destination is the same
And our journey is long.
I wish for you a smooth path,
And a long and interesting journey
Full of emotion and life,
Family and friends.
We will not arrive together,
At the final destination,
But I will wait for you, my friend,
As I know you will wait for me.
-- F.A. Villari
For more times than I can count, I have received requests to reprint the above poetry. And, now, the post as well. I edited the grammar a bit, as I always do. Since its first publication, on October 1, 2015, this post still ranks as my most read. I hadn't realized that nine years had passed.
I've been noticing that time seems to slip by faster as I get older. But, as I always say, time is nothing more than a human concept. Therefore, as my mother lied to me when she turned 30, for the umteenth time, I too have decided to stop aging and let our concept of time do as it pleases. But, as I approach 71, I bemoan it took me more years than her, to make this logical decision.
I used to write poetry back in the late 1970s. I abandoned the habit after accumulating a "book" of it, which I believed, at the time, was much too personally insightful. Needless to say, one morning I "accidentally Ollie North'd" the collection. I shredded it, along with the past week's classified intelligence message traffic. I've often wondered if there was a subconscious intent, those many years ago, possibly due to my personal life being in the toilet.
I have tried to start writing poetry again, but that particular muse is a shadowy phantom loath to manifest itself more so, it would seem, the older I get. I am equally loathed to allow anyone the opportunity to breach the protective walls of my redoubt. Not very often, however, my heart or mind will overcome my lack of material, or another "special" individual will spark the tinder of my creative furnace.
This verse is much more telling of my mental state, having discovered, with age, that life presents so much elephant feces I really don't need to waste energy on, not the least of which are those comments that spew forth from the pie holes of those countless members of the League of the Perpetually Offended. What is my attitude about this apparent "waste of humanity" that tries to insinuate itself into my life? I simply try not to care about their "perpetual petty selfishness" and humbly ask them to get off my path, so I might continue enjoying the same peace I wish for them.
I used to write poetry back in the late 1970s. I abandoned the habit after accumulating a "book" of it, which I believed, at the time, was much too personally insightful. Needless to say, one morning I "accidentally Ollie North'd" the collection. I shredded it, along with the past week's classified intelligence message traffic. I've often wondered if there was a subconscious intent, those many years ago, possibly due to my personal life being in the toilet.
I have tried to start writing poetry again, but that particular muse is a shadowy phantom loath to manifest itself more so, it would seem, the older I get. I am equally loathed to allow anyone the opportunity to breach the protective walls of my redoubt. Not very often, however, my heart or mind will overcome my lack of material, or another "special" individual will spark the tinder of my creative furnace.
This verse is much more telling of my mental state, having discovered, with age, that life presents so much elephant feces I really don't need to waste energy on, not the least of which are those comments that spew forth from the pie holes of those countless members of the League of the Perpetually Offended. What is my attitude about this apparent "waste of humanity" that tries to insinuate itself into my life? I simply try not to care about their "perpetual petty selfishness" and humbly ask them to get off my path, so I might continue enjoying the same peace I wish for them.
I find poetry, like art, is a matter of taste. To the poet, like the artist, they are trying to communicate as much to themselves as to others. To the academic community, poetry is defined in multi-syllable "let me show you how much smarter I am than you" speak; so few of us "commoners" understand it:
Poetry is a form of literature that uses aesthetic and rhythmic qualities of language—such as phonaesthetics, sound symbolism, and metre — to evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, the prosaic ostensible meaning.
Poetry uses forms and conventions to suggest differential interpretation to words, or to evoke emotive responses. Devices such as assonance, alliteration, onomatopoeia, and rhythm are sometimes used to achieve musical or incantatory effects. The use of ambiguity, symbolism, irony, and other stylistic elements of poetic diction often leaves a poem open to multiple interpretations. Similarly, figures of speech such as metaphor, simile, and metonymy create a resonance between otherwise disparate images—a layering of meanings, forming connections previously not perceived. Kindred forms of resonance may exist, between individual verses, in their patterns of rhyme or rhythm.-- Wikipedia, "Poetry"
Well, reading the "Wikipedia" definition of poetry, makes me want to immediately run out to my local bookseller for some interesting poetry to read. The definition gives some credence to Socrates who once said, "I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled poets to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean."
I think most of us have a general idea what Socrates meant, and what poetry is; if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it probably is a duck, unless its Japanese "haiku," which makes my eyes cross and allows drool to run freely down my chin as I lose control of my bladder. Haiku is best read after smoking some "mind-altering" herb or drinking several double tumblers of bourbon. I mean, if you're going be comatose after reading it anyway, you might as well enjoy killing the brain cells.
Have you ever wondered why we remember only snippets of famous poems? More than five or six quatrains, those four-line stanzas, is about all I can stomach, much less try to remember. Like an "all-you-can-eat" casino buffet, it seems better to just indulge in the delicious "meat" of poetic verse, the interesting substance, than to drown in the carbohydrates that surround it? I think this is probably the way most of us think, and why we latch onto the most meaningful verse, as in Robert Burns' poem, "A Red, Red Rose":
"O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly play'd in tune."
Those of us, who received a "quality" education, will remember this verse. But, can anyone remember the rest of it? It isn't all that long, as poems go. And yet, the entirety escapes many of us. In this way, I think, poetry truly reflects our lives as we travel our path. We remember the interesting meat of it, but the fluff seems to fall by the wayside. When it comes to remembering people, however, we seem to be even less discerning, a trait I recognize and, yet, also fall prey to.
Referencing the photo at the beginning of this post: Which of the three would you be more apt to remember, the cute little girl, the loyal friend, or the jackass? Perhaps there is a member of the League of the Perpetually Offended who is most memorable for you.
The truth is, anyone we meet can be a friend along our path, as long as we are willing to treat them as we would want to be treated. With enough tolerance, love, and understanding, even the jackass among us, like myself, can be seen as a worthy friend, and might even find a gentler path for them, due to our ministries. But, many of whom we meet, are destined for the fluff pile because we just don't seem to have the time, or won't make time, to allow them a chance to become a cherished memory, a permanent part of our memory, our life, and our journey. Even those we are aware that we should probably take time to know better, are simply passed up, like vegetables at a buffet, in favor of the all-you-can-eat crab, shrimp, or London broil.
I think I'll go out and make a conscious effort to meet someone new, possibly at an inexpensive buffet. With any luck, they might shake up my inner poetic self. But, the real gift, as often overlooked, will be the memory of meeting them, like so many others along my journey.
The challenge for each of us is to make time for our fellows. It takes such little effort to try it. Make the effort, for yourself, and for others. As a matter of fact, try making an effort daily to make a new acquaintance. Whether they become a friend or not, your life and theirs will be all the richer for having known each other and for having made the effort.
The truth is, anyone we meet can be a friend along our path, as long as we are willing to treat them as we would want to be treated. With enough tolerance, love, and understanding, even the jackass among us, like myself, can be seen as a worthy friend, and might even find a gentler path for them, due to our ministries. But, many of whom we meet, are destined for the fluff pile because we just don't seem to have the time, or won't make time, to allow them a chance to become a cherished memory, a permanent part of our memory, our life, and our journey. Even those we are aware that we should probably take time to know better, are simply passed up, like vegetables at a buffet, in favor of the all-you-can-eat crab, shrimp, or London broil.
I think I'll go out and make a conscious effort to meet someone new, possibly at an inexpensive buffet. With any luck, they might shake up my inner poetic self. But, the real gift, as often overlooked, will be the memory of meeting them, like so many others along my journey.
The challenge for each of us is to make time for our fellows. It takes such little effort to try it. Make the effort, for yourself, and for others. As a matter of fact, try making an effort daily to make a new acquaintance. Whether they become a friend or not, your life and theirs will be all the richer for having known each other and for having made the effort.
“If you go looking for a friend, you’re going to find they’re scarce. If you go out to be a friend, you’ll find them everywhere.”-- Zig Ziglar
Editor's Note
(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)
Before you go getting your panties in a bunch - it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either view any more right or wrong than the other. Opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form their own opinions, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint.
I fervently hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion in an arena of mutual respect concerning those opinions offered. After twenty-three years of military intelligence, I believe that engaging each other in this manner, and in this arena, is a way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.
We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience... and what we do afterward.
Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. Following his service career, he spent 17 years working with the premier and world-renowned Western Institutional Review Board, helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. He also served 8 years on the Board of Directors for the Angela J. Bowen Foundation.
Ordained in 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As a weapon for his war on intolerance, he chose the pen. He wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's personal, spiritual path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteered as the lead chaplain at a regional medical center.
Feel free to contact Pastor Tony at: tolerantpastor@gmail.com
