New Discoveries

Why aren’t scientist rushing to Gabriel Brothers to study the mysterious black hole that must exist somewhere behind its deceptive doors?
[Gabes]: “Want some unbelievable rewards?”
[me]:  I do need a birthday gift….
[Gabes]: “Why not step inside?”
[me]: *shrugs*
Two hours later, the doors swing shut behind me.  I have to squint to avoid the hot white light, asking myself if it was worth it.
Surely the sun could have provided better therapy. 
Image result for phantom tollbooth quotes no wrong roads
“No Wrong Roads.”  This simple quote, dangling from my wrist, checks my self-judgement.  The sun could have provided therapy.  It could have been better.  I might not have recognized it to be such.  Yet today, because I missed it yesterday, I know the sun to be needful.
Today, in the brief moment between rain storms and grey skies, I soak in the sun and I am thankful for the road through Gabe’s, black hole and all, that led me to this moment.
The cold April mud filling the void between my toes,  reminds me that this path is not new, right, easier, or harder.  It is dirty.  It changes as it must, rain making soft what yesterday was hard. Today I am trying a different route.  It is not new, right, easier, or harder. I don’t yet know its name or if it appears on a map, so I am carefully charting its meandering path.
I do not know the road you are on, it’s name, or end.  I do know that “to act that each tomorrow find us farther than today” takes a “heart for any fate.”   So take heart my dear friend, your path may not yet be on the map, but each moment of labor and waiting leaves a sign post for another searcher to discover.
Today the road leads outside, tomorrow it may lead inward.   It will change with the fleeting of time, as all life must.  Black hole or not, this life goes fast.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
   Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
   And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
   And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
   Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
   Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
   Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
   And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
   Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
   In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
   Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
   Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
   With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
   Learn to labor and to wait.”

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