Life on the Edge

I stood at the top of the path to the beach this morning and reflected how tricky it is to be on "any" path. It seems that no matter how, when or where one starts or is along their life journey, someone, whether friend, family or foe, will be offended. The details of my latest offense need not be made public, but as I stood looking down the path and out over the ocean, a Mary Olive poem came to mind: The Journey One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice -- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you did not stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations -- though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognised as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world determined to do the only thing you could do -- determined to save the only life you could save. Mary Oliver