Stories on the Road
A few summers ago, my oldest brother John went on a roadtrip across the US and he told everyone to ask him to bring them something back. I asked for a story from a stranger and received this:
July 30th, 2009
Once upon a time there was a boy who wandered away from him home. Away from his youth, away from the things he'd always known. Like many young men who'd come before him he sought his fortune, his love, his adventure. The thing that would convince him he was no longer searching. Which I guess is the thing we all watch for.
Is there anything better than? This is an important question that began to plague our young hero.
And on a night not so unlike this one it led him to the edge of the Crooked Creek, where he gazed at his own reflection in the moonlit water. From the depths did he discern an unfamiliar movement. Bubbles cascaded to the surface and the movement rose to embody his relection in the creek. It continued to move and it gave the illusion that this twin countenance was speaking to him.
It spoke to his hopes and his greatest concerns for his own life and the hereafter. The young man listened intently unable to believe this midnight mirage and simultaneously unable to denounce the unlikely prophet. He believed that here on the edge of the river did he dabble with some form of enlightenment. Some greater truth.
And like many of us, he wanted it to be actual. Finally the phantom fell back to the below and as the boy stood up to look towards his tomorrow he heard a final message--
Esse quam videri: To be and not to seem.
There may be nothing better than searching.