Walking with my son in the “fairy woods,” we came to an intersection in the trail we’d come to many times before.
“Which way should we go?” he asked.
“The low road gets us home faster,” I said and off we went on the shorter path back to the parking lot.
The moment those words came out of my mouth, my brain gonged: Ding Donnnng! Yup, that’s truth, it told me. The low road is the fastest way home.
I thought about the times I’d taken the proverbial low road, the difficult, addicted, slope toward something I wanted. That man, that drink, that thing, that money. That shiny self-image. The low road I’d taken as a teenager… and sometimes still find myself on, when I’m just too tired to be impeccable. When I say a little “fuck it” inside and don’t rinse my recycling or get lazy and roll my way toward something I think that’ll make me happier, happier than being righteously high-minded.
The low road: I used to take it more often, then in my 20’s I got holy and tried only the high road, at least for a while. That was kind of incredible, actually, but equally exhausting — just this time for everyone around me. I also became pretty damned ineffectual in this world, some kind of rarefied diva of mania. I felt exhilarated, but couldn’t get out of the house until after 3 hours of meditation and my mindfulness told me it was okay. Then I didn’t do anything except smile at everyone and perfect my recycling, avoiding cracks on the sidewalk too.
Now, I roll through much of my day without thinking or caring, until I’m asked: which way do we go Mom? The low road is fastest home, I say. It is, I’m not lying.
I’m guessing there are a thousand recovering alcoholics who’d agree, and ten thousand addicts and players who’d nod too. A million narcissists who woke from their funk, and a holy host of evangelicals too: the low road gets you home faster, even if we all say the high road is better. Praise be to Jesus.
The high road is woefully unsustainable for most. Unless you are an ascetic, tending to the consequences of your every maneuver, and tossing them all up to a higher power each waking moment. Their low road to enlightenment comes as they release a little resentment for the monk who leaves his crumbs behind on the rectory bench. Ahhh! Going home! Enlightenment of returning to a purer, closer state to holiness after a bit of forgiveness and self-reflection. It’s home. That restful, comfortable state. I’ve grown.
I always got there fastest via the shit show. Things are REALLY bad, now I’m on my knees again. Those knees were a really good place to be. Now I wonder if I even care about enlightenment any more at all? I don’t think so, been there done that (sorta). Now I just want us to stand at that rock, look at the path and take the turn that gets fastest to the parking lot.
The only ground I’ve ever stood on, is that ground I sometimes stand on, like just then. I like both roads, so does my son. It was a great day for a walk in the woods, and it was a great day to return to home too.
Shalom.
