THE ROPE ACROSS THE FIELD

I entered the field at morning light,

Certain the path was clear and bright.

The sun was warm, the air was still,

And confidence walked beside my will.

But fields are strange and fields are wide,

And soon the beasts came from inside.

Doubt began to stalk the ground,

While fear and anger gathered round.

The feelings changed from hour to hour,

Like shifting wind and passing showers.

One moment strong, the next unsure,

One moment rich, the next quite poor.

I searched for peace, I searched for rest,

But found the work was in the test.

For good states come and bad states go,

Like rivers that forever flow.

Then I remembered what was done

Before the darkness had begun.

A covenant written heart to heart,

A promise made before the start.

When sight grows dim and strength is small,

The rope remains through it all.

Tied to the friends, tied to the way,

Tied to the purpose of the day.

The field grows wild, the weeds grow high,

The beasts still roar, the crows still cry.

Yet something stronger holds me still,

A bond beyond my changing will.

The ten remembers when I forget.

The friends remind me not to quit.

And when the dust hides all I see,

Their strength preserves the path for me.

So let the field reveal its face,

Its every beast, its every place.

For I have learned what makes me whole:

Not fleeing from the field—

But holding to the rope.