The rain shines on the road like a black mirror,
reflecting a transparent darkness
punctuated by orange blurs.
A noisy silence surrounds the rushing car
as it smoothly glides along the highway.
Time and space lose their frame
in the hypnotic repetitiveness of straight road.
Round wheels rolling against flat asphalt
- and so we drive, from goal to goal,
a linear experience within a cyclical life.
The past visible from the rear view mirror,
our gaze directed to the future,
confidently we steer the car
- indulging in the illusion of control:
How tempting to believe that life
is a flat line, and if we just keep our eyes
on the road and our hands on the steering wheel,
we’ll have an easy ride.
Yet sooner or later, the road fails us,
or the car, or the navigation.
Until we surrender to grace
and let the road carry us. And then we see:
There’s nowhere to go and nowhere to leave.
We see that if the gravity of Earth fails us,
There is always the gravity of the sky to catch us.
We see that it doesn’t matter how fast we drive,
and whether we turn left or right,
because we are drops of consciousness,
passengers of life, eternally roaming the pathless,
timeless woods of existence.