That guy: The road less taken

Step by step, the threshold approaches.

A frozen tundra consumes my vision. But the door grows closer. The cold is encompassing. My legs grow weaker with each step. The arctic breeze driving along may be the only thing pushing me forward.

I extend my hand, and wrap each finger around the handle.

While there is no warmth, there is no chill. With a deliberate motion, the door creaks open, somehow unaffected by the force of the wind.

I turn to face the wasteland behind me. It yields nothing but frost, so I turn back around, and step.


The change is drastic.


There is no wind, no jutting rocks, no stinging blades of ice falling from the sky. Only freshly fallen snow. Free from scars, free from footprints.

I turn to examine the door.

It’s vanished.

In its’ place stands a signpost, bearing down on me. Just past the sign post, there are two paths, leading in either direction. There are no solitary snowflakes on the paths, a strange sight. No gravel, no tiny marks of any kind.

The signs pointing either way confuse me. They only have one word each, but say so much.

I walk, gently to the cusp of the paths. And sit. And stare.

I let the meditation flow over me.

I sit an eternity.

Stasis. The world around me remains the same. The paths shine brightly, so clear and reflective. Everything else is fluffy snow, level with itself the whole way through.

I look down the left path. It shimmers at me, begging to be chosen. I can feel the signpost behind me.

I look down the right path. It calls my name, its' perfect surface asking for my presence. The signpost draws closer, as if to push me towards a decision.

Rising, the world starts to sway. I look left. I look right. I turn to the signpost. It glares down at me with its unfeeling signs.

I turn back to the pathways.

I walk until I am directly at the split. Left is left. Right is right.

A deep breath................................................................

And I walk straight forward.

The purity of the snow is gone. My steps mar the land.

And the world erupts.

The paths dissolve, and the sky changes. The fury of nature bears down upon me. Unleashing its wrath. The chill returns, more feverous than before. The wind whips around, mutilating what peace the beautiful snow banks left behind.

And I press on.










We make our own paths.