The Wilderness
I would describe what I am doing as simply seeking answers. That’s all. I’m not trying to build my own personal beliefs up because I don’t even quite know what they are. That’s the whole point here, man. I just want direction. How about I help you better understand where I am here. This is how I imagine my current situation:
I am lost in a huge expanse of space; a field if you want, or mountains, or woods—whatever suits you. I’m in this place and I’m holding these three maps, each telling me a different direction in which to head. One map tells me to turn to my left and follow a long and narrow winding footpath that is littered with rocks, and thorns, and dangers of all kinds. It stretches out for what looks to be a lifetime, bowing out away from some distant light source before meandering in, more towards the center of my perspective. It seems like an impossible journey to complete. Down at the very edge of the horizon, just as the road meets the bleak, gray sky, I can see a brilliant glow. Even from here, though it is just a glow, I can almost feel its warmth in the cold air. This sliver of light appears so far off that I can’t imagine myself ever getting there. I don’t feel like I have the supplies or the will power to make it. The tattered and worn map in my hand assures me that this is the right path, no matter how bad it looks. It says in time-faded ink that all I have to do is keep my head up and my eyes on the light and I will one day arrive safely. This advice seems much too simple for the trial at hand.
I look to the next map to see if it can help me find a better way there. This map is well drawn and filled with facts and figures that promise to be helpful in my journey. It points me straight ahead to a well-defined and apparently oft-traveled roadway—much more promising than the first. All hazards have been cleared from this path and some grooming has been done to its surface. Like the first, this route stretches on for what again feels like a lifetime towards a similar point of glowing light. The warmth returns to me momentarily as I gaze off into the distance, seeking this road’s end. This feels like the most promising route but before I step out, I skim over the map once more. Towards the bottom of the page I notice a finely written footnote that warns me that it is at this point incomplete and can only guide me definitely for a portion of the way. Confused, I lift my head and see that as the road stretches out from my feet, its manicured surface begins to look less worn and somewhat less defined. The point at which it touches the horizon appears almost completely wild—only a faint trace of a path remains. It seems that none who have come before me have ever made it completely to the light at the end; the few that have, apparently failed to ever report back with their findings. The map assures me that with the information it provides, I should be able to chart the rest of the course safely but its end warning still haunts me. I don’t feel confident in setting off on this road either.
Shivering from the cold and fearing the fall of night, I again find myself looking out at the wilderness around me. I do not see another path ahead. I glance to the right at the raw, open terrain that stretches out along the length of the first two paths. It too beckons me with a strange warmth, and soft but brilliant glow. This glow does not outshine the others, nor is its simple radiance dwarfed by them. It equals theirs in intensity and looks somewhat similar in color—a distant blush on the frigid cheek of the land. I can’t figure out how I would go about getting there and I must admit, that somewhat intrigues me. I look up at the ominous sky above and then back down at my weary, trembling hands. This last map charts no course and plots no route through this vast wilderness. It supplies me with only a detailed topography of the region and a simple, wobbly compass. This map, too, is worn thin; the only marking it bears is a message scrawled in thick black ink. It reads simply:
“Go it your own way. Find your own path.”
I feel so drawn to it but can’t for some reason commit. Why pass on trodden paths in favor of uncharted ground? It just doesn’t seem to make sense to me. It seems irrational but for some reason still tempting. I don’t know what to do. I am cold. I am confused. I want to find the way.
As I stand here, contemplating these three paths through the wasteland, I feel more alone than I have ever felt before. At no point have I ever known a fear so strong as this. I look up at the three points of light growing thinner under the onslaught of night. Each glows so warm and strong that I almost feel it doesn’t matter which I choose. No one end appears any less pleasant than the others and no one end beckons with any superior strength. It is almost as if these three emanate from one lone source somewhere far beyond where my eyes can reach. I look back at the brooding darkness growing thicker and churning in the sky above me. The wind whips around violently as if impatiently condemning my indecision. The smell of rain fills my nostrils as it is carried in by the roiling tempest. Staring defiantly into the cold I take a deep breath and gather my maps. I have made my choice. I turn slowly and look out once more into the gloomy landscape that lay before me. Confidently, I fix my gaze on the fading light ahead and take the step that will change my life and forever define who I am. I have chosen my path through the wilderness of existence. I have found the way. I have found the Truth.
Dapremont, Ryan. “The Wilderness”. (adapted from A Hurried Rant on Everything). gray matter. 30 March 2005.
Photo by Ryan Dapremont.
I am lost in a huge expanse of space; a field if you want, or mountains, or woods—whatever suits you. I’m in this place and I’m holding these three maps, each telling me a different direction in which to head. One map tells me to turn to my left and follow a long and narrow winding footpath that is littered with rocks, and thorns, and dangers of all kinds. It stretches out for what looks to be a lifetime, bowing out away from some distant light source before meandering in, more towards the center of my perspective. It seems like an impossible journey to complete. Down at the very edge of the horizon, just as the road meets the bleak, gray sky, I can see a brilliant glow. Even from here, though it is just a glow, I can almost feel its warmth in the cold air. This sliver of light appears so far off that I can’t imagine myself ever getting there. I don’t feel like I have the supplies or the will power to make it. The tattered and worn map in my hand assures me that this is the right path, no matter how bad it looks. It says in time-faded ink that all I have to do is keep my head up and my eyes on the light and I will one day arrive safely. This advice seems much too simple for the trial at hand.
I look to the next map to see if it can help me find a better way there. This map is well drawn and filled with facts and figures that promise to be helpful in my journey. It points me straight ahead to a well-defined and apparently oft-traveled roadway—much more promising than the first. All hazards have been cleared from this path and some grooming has been done to its surface. Like the first, this route stretches on for what again feels like a lifetime towards a similar point of glowing light. The warmth returns to me momentarily as I gaze off into the distance, seeking this road’s end. This feels like the most promising route but before I step out, I skim over the map once more. Towards the bottom of the page I notice a finely written footnote that warns me that it is at this point incomplete and can only guide me definitely for a portion of the way. Confused, I lift my head and see that as the road stretches out from my feet, its manicured surface begins to look less worn and somewhat less defined. The point at which it touches the horizon appears almost completely wild—only a faint trace of a path remains. It seems that none who have come before me have ever made it completely to the light at the end; the few that have, apparently failed to ever report back with their findings. The map assures me that with the information it provides, I should be able to chart the rest of the course safely but its end warning still haunts me. I don’t feel confident in setting off on this road either.
Shivering from the cold and fearing the fall of night, I again find myself looking out at the wilderness around me. I do not see another path ahead. I glance to the right at the raw, open terrain that stretches out along the length of the first two paths. It too beckons me with a strange warmth, and soft but brilliant glow. This glow does not outshine the others, nor is its simple radiance dwarfed by them. It equals theirs in intensity and looks somewhat similar in color—a distant blush on the frigid cheek of the land. I can’t figure out how I would go about getting there and I must admit, that somewhat intrigues me. I look up at the ominous sky above and then back down at my weary, trembling hands. This last map charts no course and plots no route through this vast wilderness. It supplies me with only a detailed topography of the region and a simple, wobbly compass. This map, too, is worn thin; the only marking it bears is a message scrawled in thick black ink. It reads simply:
“Go it your own way. Find your own path.”
I feel so drawn to it but can’t for some reason commit. Why pass on trodden paths in favor of uncharted ground? It just doesn’t seem to make sense to me. It seems irrational but for some reason still tempting. I don’t know what to do. I am cold. I am confused. I want to find the way.
As I stand here, contemplating these three paths through the wasteland, I feel more alone than I have ever felt before. At no point have I ever known a fear so strong as this. I look up at the three points of light growing thinner under the onslaught of night. Each glows so warm and strong that I almost feel it doesn’t matter which I choose. No one end appears any less pleasant than the others and no one end beckons with any superior strength. It is almost as if these three emanate from one lone source somewhere far beyond where my eyes can reach. I look back at the brooding darkness growing thicker and churning in the sky above me. The wind whips around violently as if impatiently condemning my indecision. The smell of rain fills my nostrils as it is carried in by the roiling tempest. Staring defiantly into the cold I take a deep breath and gather my maps. I have made my choice. I turn slowly and look out once more into the gloomy landscape that lay before me. Confidently, I fix my gaze on the fading light ahead and take the step that will change my life and forever define who I am. I have chosen my path through the wilderness of existence. I have found the way. I have found the Truth.
Dapremont, Ryan. “The Wilderness”. (adapted from A Hurried Rant on Everything). gray matter. 30 March 2005.
Photo by Ryan Dapremont.
posted by Dap at
3/30/2005 12:25:00 AM
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