Poetry for Order of Service

Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, "I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on further--and we shall see. . .."

(Robert Frost, from "The Wood-Pile," North of Boston)

You walking, your footprints are
the road, and nothing else;
there is no road, walker,
you make the road by walking.
By walking you make the road,
and when you look backward,
you see the path that you
never will step on again.
Walker, there is no road,
only wind-trails in the sea.

(Antonio Machado, tr. Robert Bly, The Soul Is Here For Its Own Joy)

In this world of infinite possibility
I look around for the second step
of desire--
All I see is one footprint!

("The Footprint," Ghalib, The Soul Is Here For Its Own Joy)

Introduction to Responsive Reading

Sometimes we seem to think that life has just one answer. And sometimes we may even think that we have found that answer. But then it slips from us. And, oh, how desperate we become to re-discover that answer and to try to hold it in place. Our responsive reading this morning agrees that there is an answer, there is a way. . .but it may not be quite the way we have been seeking.

Responsive Reading

MINISTER: Friends, I have lost the way.

CONGREGATION: The way leads on.

MINISTER: Is there another way?

CONGREGATION: The way is one.

MINISTER: I must retrace the track.

CONGREGATION: It's lost and gone.

MINISTER: Back, I must travel back!

CONGREGATION: None goes there, none.

MINISTER: Then I'll make here my place--

CONGREGATION: The road runs on--

MINISTER: Stand still and set my face--

CONGREGATION: The road leaps on.

MINISTER: Stay here, forever stay.

CONGREGATION: None stays here, none.

MINISTER: I cannot find the way.

CONGREGATION: The way leads on.

MINISTER: Oh, places I have passed!

CONGREGATION: That journey's done.

MINISTER: And what will come at last?

CONGREGATION: The way leads on.

("The Way," by Edwin Muir)

Readings

My sermon this morning, a companion to last week's sermon, will have to do with the road that we travel in life: where the road leads, what it means to travel a road, how we choose the road we travel, what the significance of choosing a road is, and in what spirit we travel that road.

I have two short readings that relate to this topic of traveling a road. The first is a reading of Carlos Casteneda in which he throws out the challenging statement that all roads lead nowhere. And, this being the case, since nevertheless we must travel a road, the important thing is to choose one that has heart for us. Casteneda writes:

You must always keep in mind that a path is only a path.
Look at every path closely and deliberately.
Try it as many times as you think necessary.
Then ask yourself one question:
"Does this path have heart?"
All paths are the same; they lead nowhere.
So the only question is:
"Does this path have heart?"
If it does, then the path is good.
If it does not, it is of no use.
Both paths lead nowhere, but one has heart and the other doesn't.
One makes for a joyful journey; the other will make you curse your life.
One makes you strong; the other weakens you.

I take this reading to be saying that the idea we quite naturally have that the road we travel in life transports us from "here" to "there" is ultimately an illusion. It's a necessary illusion perhaps, but an illusion nonetheless. . .for there is no "here" and there is no "there," there is no beginning and there is no end, only the "eternal now". . . so that, ultimately, the road we travel is for the purpose of acquainting us with the sights along the way, and for acquainting us with knowledge of ourselves as we travel that road.

Buddhist teacher, Alan Watts, makes a somewhat similar point with this analogy to a musical symphony. He writes:

No one imagines that a symphony is supposed to improve in quality as it goes along, or that the whole object of playing it is to reach the finale. The point of music is discovered in every moment of playing and listening to it. It is the same, I feel, with the greater part of our lives, and if we are unduly absorbed in improving them we may forget altogether to live them.

"THE ROAD TAKEN"

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

(Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken," Mountain Interval)

A quick recap

Last Sunday, drawing on this familiar poem, "The Road Not Taken," I spoke of the road and roads not taken in our lives. And I expressed the opinion, shared by other students of this poem, that this poem is not primarily, if at all, about the value of taking the less-traveled road in life, as it's so often understood; it's not about the all-American value of rugged individualism, but, rather, as the title of the poem indicates, it's a reflection on all the roads and possibilities that one has not and will not be able to take in life.

And so I spoke, then, about the importance of recognizing and respecting these untaken roads in our life, because something in these unfulfilled possibilities has also called out to us.

And I suggested that if we are to be free to take the road we are choosing, we must at least give a little sigh, as the poet does, for all those roads not taken in our life. We must make some kind of gesture to them, whether as avocation or in imagination, but it will not do to simply dismiss them or turn our backs on them, for they, too, represent a perfectly good life that we might also have lived, and that should be recognized, honored, and perhaps even grieved in some way.

The road we are traveling

But, now, what about the road that has been taken, the road that we have chosen and are choosing, the road we are traveling? What can we say about that road?

We should note, as I did last week, that at the time of the choosing the traveler found very little difference, if any at all, between the two roads. Both roads beckoned, both were inviting, ". . .both that morning equally lay/ In leaves no step had trodden black."

So this self-congratulatory statement at the end of the poem about taking the less-traveled road is merely a story the traveler tells others, and perhaps himself, later in life as a kind of self-justification for taking the road that he took: "Oh, yes, my dear grandchildren, I did things my way; I didn't follow the crowd, I didn't take the easy way; no, I took the uncharted, untried course; I took the road less-traveled by, and that is why I am who I am today."

But in all honesty, at the time of the choosing, there was nothing really to distinguish the two roads. And the traveler, in his heart of hearts, knows that he was not being more brave or heroic or unique or special. The traveler simply had to choose, and did, and it was the choosing that made the greater difference; it was the choosing that led to way upon way, small differences that over time evolved into a huge difference--almost as different species evolve over time--and now, far down the road, it's quite impossible to return to the place where the traveler started in anything like it's original form.

And so the sigh, even while telling others about bravely taking the less-traveled road, the sigh at not being able to take the other road as well, the sigh for untried possibility, a sigh of regret and sorrow, a sigh for "necessary losses," and a sigh, perhaps, for the seemingly arbitrary and accidental nature of this life. . .for the traveler, on another day, and in a different mood, and under slightly different circumstances, might just as well have chosen the other road.

Taking the other road

Indeed, let's suppose that on the particular day that the traveler came to this fork in the road of his life he had chosen differently. Let's suppose that instead of taking, what he imagined, to be the less-traveled road, he had taken, what he imagined to be, the more well-traveled road. Let's suppose that he had said to himself at the fork of the road, "Well, this looks like an inviting road. It appears to be a little more well-traveled than the other, which would seem to indicate that there may be more interesting sights on it. And, besides that, today I have my better clothes on, there's perhaps less chance of them getting snagged and damaged, so I think I'll take this one."

And years later looking back, might he not be telling this kind of story to his grandchildren: "Yes, my dear grandchildren, I think you'll have to admit that I played it pretty smart. You see, there were those who thought that they had to go off by themselves on some kind of wild, uncharted, untraveled course of life. But, as most of them found out to their regret, those paths were simply dead-ends, and they had to turn around and come back, having wasted valuable time.

"Meanwhile, I had a sense of the way the world was going; I could see the developing trend. So I got on that burgeoning highway, and I jostled with the others trying to get ahead, and, indeed, I made the most of it. And that accounts for my success today. You see, I took the road that was more traveled-by, and that has made all the difference."

But, again, this, too, is a story of self-justification, and only a story the traveler makes up for himself and others, because, following the poem, this person, too, knows, in his heart of hearts, that at the time choosing, there was really not much to distinguish the two roads. And so, again, the sigh for not being able to travel both roads.

Does the road matter?

So does it matter what road the traveler took at this juncture in his or her life? And does the road you take in your life make any difference?

Let's start with the idea that it wouldn't matter which road was taken. And why wouldn't it matter? Because, in a significant sense, in terms of your journey through life, there is no road. Rather, you make the road as you travel.

This is the significance of one of the little pieces of poetry in the Order of Service today:

You walking, your footprints are
the road, and nothing else;
there is no road, walker,
you make the road by walking.
By walking you make the road,
and when you look backward,
you see the path that you
never will step on again.
Walker, there is no road,
only wind-trails in the sea.

(Antonio Machado, tr. Robert Bly, p. 248, The Soul Is Here For Its Own Joy)

In an important sense, declares this little poem, there is no road for us, no path that we should be on. This is a new time in history. And this life has never been lived before. This particular confluence of events, including your own physical, spiritual, mental, and cultural being, has never come together before in quite this way.

So even though you can see where others have traveled before, and even though you might believe yourself to be walking in the same direction; still, for you, this road has never been traveled before, and there is no road ahead of you except the one you make by walking. Only when you look back on your life do you see the road you have made by traveling.

Traveling confusion

Perhaps some of our confusion and frustration in life comes from thinking that we should be on some road, that we should see some road ahead of us that we're supposed to be following, that there's something laid out in front of us and that we should be able to track on it, and that if we were only better scouts, or better map-readers, or knew better how to stay on course, we wouldn't have the anxiety or questions or doubts we have, and we would have an easier and more rewarding journey through life.

Says Joseph Campbell, in one of my favorite quips from him: "If you can see your road laid out in front of you--five, ten, fifteen, twenty or thirty years ahead--beware. And why? Because that's not your road; that's someone else's road that has already been traveled. Your road doesn't exist yet; it hasn't been carved out yet."

So looking ahead in terms of your life's journey, there are no roads, only possibilities. And what you might think are roads are only the possibilities that others have taken, which have become roads for them, which can be seen only in retrospect, only after they have been traveled. (Like a Robert Frost, who you might think was destined to be a great American poet, but if you know something of his life story, it was not certain at all.)

But for you, these roads others have taken only suggest possibilities. . .for the point is: you've never come this way before, nor has the creative urge of infinite being that is manifesting and experimenting in you come exactly to this juncture before.

You walking, your footprints are
the road, and nothing else;
there is no road, walker,
you make the road by walking.

A teaching story

Perhaps you know the teaching story of two travelers coming upon an unfamiliar village. The first traveler asks the counselor at the gate of the town, who is also perhaps the guardian of the community. . .he asks the "old salt" at the ferry landing of Port Townsend, "Tell me, sir gate keeper, is this a good place for me to live? Will I like this village and find happiness here?"

The wise counselor pauses and says, "Let me put a question to you, my friend: Did you like the previous village in which you lived?"

"Ho, ho," says the traveler, "I did not. Why do you think I am on the move?"

"Ah, I see," said the wise counselor. "I'm afraid, I have some bad news for you. This town also is not for you, nor would it be a good fit; for I have found with others, like yourself, who have been unhappy in their previous villages that our village, too, was found to be wanting. So I must advise you that you would do well to keep moving, for you will not like it here in our village."

Shortly thereafter the second traveler comes to the village, and also asks the counselor at the gate, "Is this a good place to live? Will I like this place and find happiness?"

"And how was it," says the counselor, "with you before? Did you like the town you were in before?"

"Oh, indeed, I did," said the traveler, "that is why I am adventuring still further."

"Ah, I see," said the wise one. "Yes, yes, this is exactly the place for you, for I have found with others, like yourself, that those who found happiness in their previous villages also found this place to be to their liking. So I advise that this is a good fit for you, a fine town, and surely you will find it so."

You make the road as you travel, and the will and spirit that comes from you makes the road what it is. In and through your choosing, in and through your attitude, you shape a life and create a road.

The other side of the story

But: spirit, energy, attitude, and will are not the only thing. That would be a little too one-sided. Will and circumstance, freedom and destiny, belong together; they are two poles of one process.

So the path you choose, the direction you strike out in, is also important. The road may not ultimately lead anywhere, as in the first reading from this morning, but it is very important in shaping you. The road you choose, the direction you head in, the work or profession you enter, the partner or partners you connect with--all of these shape you. You become what you choose, so choose carefully.

So the question is: How do you choose? How do you choose your future destiny? How do you choose the shape that you will become?

Let's return to the Frost poem and to the place where the traveler is standing at the crossroads. Why did the poet, the traveler, choose the road he did, for, it seems, there was no difference in the roads? As the poem says, "Both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black." And it says that one was "just as fair" as the other.

So why did the traveler go down one and not the other? Because, it seems, at least in his imagination, that the one perhaps had a better claim in his mind, perhaps the one was a little more grassy. . .perhaps, only perhaps, but, nevertheless, perhaps.

The traveler, it seems, has nothing more to go on than that. Only that slight nuance of difference. And maybe not even a conscious difference. Maybe it was simply his body moving him, simply his nature wisdom leading the way, like any creature acting on instinct. But whether conscious or unconscious, when forced to choose, I go this way rather than that. . .for somehow this seems a little more inviting.

If you can feel some difference, even a little difference, in the appeal of the possibilities before you, don't neglect that difference. As a matter of fact, stand at the fork in the road until you can feel that difference. Or, start down each road a short way until you can feel that difference. And when you feel the difference, don't let others talk you out of it.

In this world of infinite possibility
I look around for the second step
of desire--
All I see is one footprint!

("The Footprint," Ghalib)

In other words, I look out expecting to see a road to follow into the distance, but I don't see a road at all, and I don't see a path opening brightly before me. But what I do see is one footprint.

If you can see even one footprint ahead of you, one place to put your foot, that's enough.

The road we would travel in life does not always open wide before us. We are not always blessed with great clarity as to what direction we should go in. . .for there are competing impulses within us, and plenty of distraction in the world about us.

But there doesn't have to be great clarity for you to be able to move forward with your life. A single footprint will do. If you just have a sense of where you can place your next footstep, that is enough for you to go on. And heading in the direction of that footstep, and following that process of obeying those slight nuances of difference, will lead to way upon way, and you will grow into yourself, and you will have a life; you will have a self that you can stand to live with and be with.

Getting to know yourself

For that's what we're talking about here: we're talking about coming to know yourself, and growing into yourself, and carving out a self. We're talking about learning to listen for, and to recognize, and to follow your own voice. We're talking about getting into the habit of yourself.

Two of my favorite lines in literature are from the Scandinavian poet, Gunnar Ekelof, who says:

Hard to get into the habit of yourself;
Hard to get out of the habit of yourself.

(From "Variations," Gunnar Ekelof, tr. Robert Bly)

Hard to know what your personal center is and how to move out of it. But also hard if you don't think there is a personal center and you pay no attention to it.

And so this journey I'm talking about has to do with learning how to get into the habit of yourself.

A concern

But, you ask: "Suppose I start down one way, believing it is helping me to get into the habit of myself, and I find, after a time, that it isn't working? Suppose if I were given the same choice to make over again, I would choose differently?"

I would answer that this is fine, this is good; this is the journey. You are expanding into greater awareness, greater consciousness, and this is an expansion that usually comes slowly and by trial and testing.

As in the first reading this morning, the road is not ultimately important--it's just a road. What is important is the awakening of your heart, and coming to know your heart. It's coming to know yourself as part of life, and becoming more aware of how you are one with life, and how you might serve life.

That's what the roads are for. They are not intended to bring you to a particular destination other than the destination of becoming awake to life. . .so that if while you travel, whatever road you travel, you begin to wake up to the marvel of your life, and to your connection with other life, and to a sense of how you may serve even greater life, then that road has fulfilled its purpose for you.

Stuck at a crossroads

But, again you ask: "Suppose I come to a place on my journey where I'm absolutely stuck: I'm at a crossroads and I simply can't decide which way to go? I've investigated and weighed the possibilities, I've tried to discern what most fits my nature, but I simply can't decide what road to take? What then?"

Fortunately, for you this morning I have a little exercise that is virtually guaranteed to get you unstuck so that you can see that first footstep ahead of you. The exercise is a simple coin toss, and here's how it works:

You find yourself at a fork in the road of your life and simply can't figure out which way to go. You're stuck. I advise that you gather a couple of trusted friends, both as witnesses and as fuel to bring the pot to a boil. Then you explain your dilemma to your friends and you take out a coin.

You announce that heads will stand for one possibility and tails for another. Whatever side the coin lands on, that will be the direction in which you will go. You will let the turning world decide for you. You will obey its impulse.

You ask one of your friends to flip the coin. It comes up heads. There you are. Witnesses have seen the evidence. The decision is made. Off you go. Enjoy your life.

But hold on. . .what's this? You say you don't want go this way? You say you can't go this way? You say you want to flip the coin again? No need to do that. You have your answer. The flip of the coin has brought clarity. Works almost every time.

It so happens that a coin toss was the very method that Robert Frost and wife, Elinor, used when they were ready to try something new. They wanted to go on an adventure where Robert could spend uninterrupted time writing to see if he could be a poet, but they were not clear where this adventure should take them. Elinor favored England because she wanted "to live under thatch" and be close to Stratford. But a friend wanted them to move to Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada.

What did the Frosts do? They flipped a coin, and to the relief of both of them, England won out over Canada. They didn't have to flip again.

Bad choice, you might think, for who, in their right mind, would choose Britain over British Columbia? But it seemed to work out for Frost. . .and for us. . .for London is where he was first able to get published. And it was near London where he wrote the poem, "The Road Not Taken," that we have been considering these past two weeks. (Story in Parini, p. 113)

The journey

So when you're stuck at the crossroads and can't decide what to do or where to go, flip a coin, and let it help you to feel a nuance of difference. Then off you go on your life's mysterious journey, way leading onto way, day by day growing into yourself, becoming more and more a person, becoming more and more differentiated.

By paying attention to the road you are choosing and by monitoring the nuances of who and what you are becoming as you travel that road, you may one day be strong enough to make some really hard choices, to start down a road that you had always wondered about, or a road that you knew someday you ought to try.

One day you may be solid enough to hear quite clearly your own voice, and courageous enough to follow it. The poet Mary Oliver speaks about such an occasion in her poem titled "The Journey," and with this I end:

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 didn't 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
recognized 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.

("The Journey," Mary Oliver)

(NOTE: This is a manuscript version of the sermon preached by the Reverend Bruce A. Bode, incoming minister at the Quimper Unitarian Universalist Fellowship in Port Townsend, Washington on "candidating Sunday," May 16, 2004. The spoken sermon, available on audio cassette at the Fellowship, may differ somewhat in phrasing and detail from this manuscript version.)