exercise #4: thinly-veiled philosophy

He sat at the crossroads, two paths ahead of him, two paths behind him. His head was bowed as he sat cross-legged, head swinging from one path to the other, muttering incoherently at the twisted sky that beleaguered him.

He had been sitting for what seemed like an eternity. A world sandwiched between universes, a place beyond places, without time or measurement. The paths he had traveled had left him bruised and sore, but it did not seem like he had any inclination of continuing forward. The dirt red road was in stark contrast to his pallid, yellowing skin. A lone traveler walking in the world that had been struck down by powerful malaise...

His thoughts flew past, jumbled with an organized chaos. Unbidden, his mind brayed with a multitude of voices, conversations flowing like a river into the lake of his consciousness. His hesitance had left him vulnerable to those who returned.

At first glance, these roads were identical in every way except direction. On a closer inspection of the incessant clutter of his mind, he gleaned wisdom about his choices.

On the right, a long, infinite road that stretched out to the end. Most people never returned from this road, but it was a solid road. There were no surprises. Down in the distance somewhere would be the golden town, full of excitement and surprise. Dig up the gold from the streets! Bathe in gold-flecked water, gorge on gold-laced delicacies and indulge in hedonistic pleasure until your body, mind and spirit were satisfied. You could stay a while, but inevitably pushed out as your time ran out.

The left side was, as they say, the 'road less traveled'. It was an ever-shifting labyrinth, criss-crossing with the right road (some said), snaking in on itself, leading travelers into dark places for them to fend for themselves. And yet, not everyone was found. Was there some utopia on this road? A place so rich, so beautiful, so captivating, that no-one ever wanted to leave? The golden town was so enticing - the glow could be seen from where he sat; inviting and tempting countless travelers to stop and stay a while.

The road on the right, however, had an end. Nobody came back from that threshold; some said they had seen people who had returned, but they were probably insane. Others claimed they had dipped in, been pulled back, seen things that no-one could ever explain!

What blasphemers, he thought to himself.

No-one knew if the left road led anywhere. The haze that surrounded travelers as they left the crossroads obscured any information as to what was ahead. Was it a protection mechanism? Or was it concocted by some unknown power to confuse and irritate those who had yet to make their decision? He had watched some brave souls take that road, spouting false confidences as they said farewell to their fellow travelers. He doubted they would ever be seen again.

And so he sits, sorting through the voices in his head. How they got there, he'll never know. They whisper temptingly to him, giving him hope of stability, giving him fear of the unknown, or showing him the glory and fame of the other road. But with many voices, his decisions become murky - fear masquerades as hesitation as he sifts through for nuggets of wisdom. Someone to tell him the right way.

But there's never a right way.

Just make a choice.