The way. The direction. The purpose. The distance in the path marked by my feet stepping below me, laying their prints with each shoe drop. My arm dreams, extends its finger: "Over there!" Clear the way ahead. Though, it doesn't make it any closer nor more available than last month's arm point.

The pursuit is of something just in front of me; defined and clear, yet never attained.

The gurus of effectiveness say, "Break up the goal into smaller, doable steps."

I impel each leg forward the other, one by one, over the trail, over the bare dirt and lay my tracks, for the duration, like the 40 years under Moses' tutelage. I want to know, How did he out-maneuver the pharaoh? On the other hand, his slog to reach his destination - that part. That part I want to avoid.

I have a gauntlet, packed in boxes of files I refuse to abandon. But, if those past Red Sea partings locked in that luggage of reminiscence don't motivate new partings, then toss them boxes. At 66, I can't take them with me. My life is an historical one, having followed the Messiah on this Earth thus far, but those testimonies and papers and anecdotes filed away may have no value three or four centuries hence if I don't accomplish the task still ahead of me.

I keep moving forward. I've a final direction, over the pass, there on the right. Yes, where my finger is pointing, not to those other peaks on the horizon. My time is limited. Within hopes, 35. In reality, could be five. I want to reach my destination before I "do a Moses," gazing at the horizon of my dreams.

My tendency is to complicate my goals with endless variations and creative possibilities. I filibuster my path with side-obligations, gigs, other people's and institution's matters. I've been in the service of making others feel at peace. I freely gave away my life, in the name of unselfishness, for a time. Until now. 

Though the path had veered, the heart did not. 
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​Tuesday June 2, 2026