“Find your way to me in grace,” said a voice one day as I was walking, alone, through the woods. I was surprised, pulled out of the elaborate web of thought I had been caught up in. But I wasn’t alarmed, despite seeing no one on the path or in the trees – perhaps because the voice sounded like the soft jingle of tiny silver bells and made me feel instantly warm and at ease.
“Who are you?” I asked, calmly, not sure which direction to turn my head.
“I go by many names,” came the voice, bell-like, from somewhere above me. “Too many to list. But I believe that, in your language, people usually refer to me as Love.”
“Ah,” I said, as if what I was hearing were the most natural thing in the world. “Love. Of course.” I paused. “But why, if you don’t mind me asking, are you here right now talking to me? … Er, Your Grace,” I added, clumsily.
I almost thought I could hear the voice smile at me, although I know the very idea seems absurd. “Well,” said Love, sounding kind. “Were you not just wondering to yourself a moment ago how to find me?”
“Um,” I said, and then I realized that I had, indeed, spent the afternoon meandering through the woods, anxiously thinking about how I would ever find love. In fact, it seemed I was always wondering about such things lately. “I guess so. But I wasn’t expecting to find an answer quite so … literally.”
“I often behave in ways you don’t expect,” said Love, simply. “Which is, I should say, very much to the point. For I believe you’ve been harboring some misconceptions about me.”
“I have?” I said. “What do you mean?”
“My child, forgive my frankness, but you’ve been trying to pin me down as if I were a bug on a plate, ready to be slid under the microscope for inspection. I’m afraid I don’t work that way.” I nodded my understanding. “If you wish to find me, you’ll have to give up your old habit of pinning things down and pulling them apart. All that analyzing will only take you farther from me.”
“I see,” I said, slowly. “But if I can’t track you down, what can I do? I can’t just sit and wait here for ages, can I?” I knew I was being bold, but I desperately wanted answers.
“What you must do, child, is something a little simpler, though perhaps not easier. You must contemplate your sweetest desire – your most fervent prayer – and move your feet in the direction your heart is drawing you. You may hesitate sometimes, and wonder whether you’re meant to turn left or right at some particular fork in the road, but in such moments, the best thing is to take a breath, remember why you’re walking, and very soon your heart, and then your feet, will recover a sense of direction and you’ll be on your way again.”
I didn’t say anything for a minute or two as I considered these words. They seemed to make sense, even if they were a little abstract. I could follow my heart, that was all well and good. But … what if my heart was wrong? How could I be sure it was trustworthy? Hadn’t following my heart, long ago, led me into a great deal of pain?
“Don’t be discouraged,” said Love, as if reading my thoughts, “if your travels take you through some raggedy lands. The path to me can be long and winding, and sometimes you’ll have to pass through rather treacherous terrain. The view to the east might be all cliffs and ledges, and to the west, barren desert that stretches on for miles with scarcely a living thing in sight.” I swallowed hard. “I must be plain with you, child: the journey won’t be easy. The road may at times seem impassable – so much so that you might drop your bag to the ground and wonder whether you shouldn’t just turn around and retreat. Many fine souls do give up, you know. That’s always a choice.”
“It is? But why? Why do they give up?” I asked, unable to restrain my curiosity.
“Some souls simply grow too tired or too hungry; they feel too weak to carry on. Others get angry or disappointed and they wind up impatient with me. And then there are some – I think you will understand this, child – who become overwhelmed by their sadness. They lose their spirits and decide that the journey isn’t worth their efforts anymore.”
“What happens to them then?”
“It depends. A few pick up their belongings and turn about-face, retracing the path they came by. Others veer off to the side, wandering aimlessly until they lose themselves in the fog. Others still, too tired to proceed, simply stop where they are and set up camp, vainly hoping that a passing wind will blow by and bring them news of better lands.”
“That’s sad,” I said, sincerely.
“Yes,” agreed Love. “It’s always hard to watch these souls give up the way. Something deep inside of them goes out, like a flame suddenly – or, in some cases, slowly and almost imperceptibly and only after a great battle – extinguished. You can tell by looking in their eyes – for it’s true that the eyes are the window to the soul – that their fire has died. Unfortunately, it happens more often than I’d care to admit.” Love gave a long, deep sigh.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“So am I.” I thought I heard that smile again, though this time it was sad. “But enough of that. I’ve come to talk about you.”
(to be continued)