By Jeff Scoggins

 

I wondered alone in the wilderness. The terrain was unfriendly, difficult, empty. I met many strangers along the way. No one spoke. We passed each other by. Aimlessly.

 

One day I ventured near a path and there met a man who said he was my neighbor. I was surprised that he spoke to me. “Here is the path,” he told me. “It leads to paradise—a kingdom of joy, life, fullness.”

 

After he left me I considered his words. Eventually I stepped onto the path thinking little of my direction. But I found the path rough, even impossible.

 

I met another neighbor on the path. “You’re going the wrong direction,” I informed him. He smiled, shook his head kindly, and passed by around the corner. I called after him, “You’re judging me!” But I don’t think he heard me.

 

I met another neighbor on the path. I began to tell him also that he was going the wrong direction, but without speaking he took my arm and turned me around and walked beside me. The path became easier with him close.

 

Another neighbor caught up with us, because he was moving much faster than we. I smiled at him sadly. He smiled at us joyfully. He encouraged us. He passed us. I did not understand why he moved over the difficult path so easily. Jealousy welled within me.

 

We met a stranger crossing the path. He sneered at us. “This path is all wrong,” he laughed. “I am free.” Then he disappeared into the wilderness.

 

I did not entirely believe him, but his words convinced me that I was traveling the wrong direction, so I pulled away from my neighbor and turned back.

 

I met another stranger who tried to convince me to turn around, but I held firm and continued to stumble blindly down the increasingly rocky path.

 

Finally, I could stand it no longer, and I veered off the path back into the wilderness. I felt euphoric. I felt free. But my foot caught and I fell, twisting my ankle. I felt guilty.

 

Strangers passed me. No one spoke. It is the way of the wilderness. I was on my own. I missed the path. Or rather I missed the occasional neighbor I found there.

 

A neighbor on the path saw me lying helpless on the ground and veered off to help. “How could you leave the path?” I demanded, still feeling a loyalty to it.

 

“I haven’t left the path. Don’t you see?” He pointed to his feet, and there was the path.

 

I looked at him confused. “How is this possible?” I asked. “I left the path far from here.”

 

“The path,” he said, “is a living, moving thing.”

 

“Impossible!” I snapped.

 

“Try it again,” he countered, “But look not to the ground, look to the destination.”

 

He lifted me and I stood, hobbling on my bad ankle. In excruciating pain I started down the path in my previous direction, but he stayed me. “No, this way.”

 

In no condition to argue I began to follow him up the path, though not with strides as great as his. He was soon far ahead. Oddly the path was easier than ever in spite of my ankle, which felt as though it was healing with every step. I was suspicious.

 

Nevertheless, I soon regained strength and confidence in myself, so I turned around, so sure that it was the proper direction. Instantly the path became brutally difficult and my ankle felt renewed pain.

 

Curious, I turned about face again and instantly the pain faded and the path became easier. I finally began to understand. I looked forward to meeting my next neighbor. It didn’t take long. He was crossing the path before me.

 

“Hello, neighbor,” I called to him.

 

He frowned. “You’re a stranger to me.”

 

“But you are not to me,” I called as he passed on into the desert. The path became markedly easier for me, and I noticed.

 

I gained speed. I met a man coming toward me, obviously laboring down the path. “Turn around, neighbor,” I called.

 

“Why,” he asked.

 

“Because this way is easier,” I replied.

 

“Easier is not necessarily better,” he said.

 

“In this case it most definitely is,” I replied joyfully.