Sunday, January 21, 2007

Writing on the Walk

(the funny one)

There’s commotion in the background which almost distracts from the
beauty of the moment.

The hurried biker zooms by downhill and the stereotypical architecture student all dressed up in his scarf and heavily-marketed coffee logo in-hand is walking hurriedly down 22nd toward San Antonio.

Thoughts of stress, worry, and anxiety pass through each of their minds. For the biker is about to approach a very busy intersection famous for bad drivers and the student is both anxious and eager to claim his desk on the 1st day of classes, but not one of those ordinary badly lit desks. No, not one of those. For those are hard to come by on the 4th floor of Sutton.

Success for the biker! Frogger would be proud.

30 ft back the student is passed by two lovely girls on their way away from the intersection. The architecture student courageously glances over his shoulder to take a peak at their backsides.

He likes what he sees.

At this moment, the moment of excitement. The moment of male excitement the mind seizes all ability to function properly and the quarter-inch crack in the sidewalk . . . the mere crack rises from the walkway and gently grabs the tip of his shoe.

He eats cement.

He regains composure with laughter from down the street accompanying his climb.



(the serious one)

Equipped with only a tattered sweater and backpack in place a soldier walks.

He is battle-tested. One who has lost far more battles than he's won.

For these battles were not fought on the battlefield.

And he was not the victor.

He only walks in that moment now. Eager but not able to let it go.

He’s lived up to his expectations. Nothing.

Broken and beaten he’s come to the point were life is no longer a journey but a failure.

Mind swirling, thoughts astray . . . he looks only were he thinks his life is going . . . down.

And there . . . only there . . . in the moment of deep lament does he find what he’s always looked for . . .

And it comes NOT from the holy but from the heart . . . of someone he’ll never know.

No comments: