One day the old man peered out into the darkness and said, “But I am not an old man. Yes, I have a clear image in my mind of men and women whom I met a half-century ago, people who no longer walk this land, but in that clear memory they themselves are young and vibrant, as I am. When I dream, I race across green fields and shout at the sky. I am still that man who stood in the presence of those men and women. I am that runner. Call me an emissary, or call me a visitor from another time, but I am not an old man.”
A young woman and not without sympathy stepped forward and said, “Why, then, do you walk with a limp, and what are those wrinkles in your face and neck?”
“Pardon me?” said the old man, turning his ear to her.
“Why, then, do you —” she began to repeat, but then she saw the smile in his eyes. “Oh! You’re speaking in metaphor or something.”
“Something,” he agreed. He paused to scratch his old dog friend behind the ears. “This is still the puppy who scampered around the place when she could climb into my lap. Do you want to be the one who reminds her how she has changed?”
“We only want to help, to show respect,” she said.
“I know,” said the old man. “I wish, 50 years ago, I had the same wisdom as you when I talked with my elders. I think I was afraid of catching something from them — whatever malady it was that slowed their step and aged their faces. Turns out all they had was a good case of life.”
He peered again into the darkness. “Storm’s coming,” he said, “but it’s getting lighter. Almost sunrise.”
Their eyes met, and she saw that he was not an old man after all.
“I wish I could come with you on your journey,” she said.
“You’re welcome to stay for awhile,” he said, “but you have your own path to follow.”
“We’re always alone, then?” she said.
“That’s not what I said.” He looked around the room at the faces of those who witnessed the conversation. “Thousands of millions of us are each on a journey. Our paths intersect from time to time, but yes, we follow our separate paths. Some paths are on common ground, and some paths are ours alone to take, including that final path up the road a ways. These moments of connection make the lone roads more bearable, these moments when we see all that we share and offer guidance to those on similar paths — and cautions to those who might be heading down a rockier road. Oh, we each manage to take a wrong turn and even get lost from time to time, so it’s wise to pay attention when someone says, ‘Maybe not that way, friend.’ I wish sometimes I had listened then.”
Another young person stepped forward as the first sunbeams of morning struck the tops of the trees across the way.
“What message are you trying to tell us?”
“Message? he asked, surprised. “Just that: Pay attention. Follow your path — your path, not someone else’s, even if you admire that someone. And respect that your path is not the only way into the light.”
He turned toward the door, and another dog fell in by his side. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re going to walk my path together for a while.”
