A blind man's vision on a winter's evening

He imagines walking out the door and finding something entirely different on the other side. He imagines brick lanes devoid of the automotive monsters which plague him so, instead occupied only by foot traffic. He can almost hear the gentle noises of each step blending together into pattering easily pressed away into the background. He can nearly feel the humanity moving around him hurried by the rain and the cold of a winter’s evening. He can see the faint yellow light of the lamps pressing back fruitlessly against the gloom. From doors and windows comes the warm glow of life, the sound of which occasionally comes through as one door is opened. He dreams of turning into a particular inviting storefront, greeted by familiar faces and welcoming voices. He imagines the owner knows his name, that the waiter knows him well. He thinks of making small talk as he is shown to a cozy spot, greeting others along his way. He thinks of the waiter asking if he will have his usual, and of answering that he will. He dreams of a friend joining him unexpectedly, a happy accident which adds fellowship to a delightful dinner. He thinks of a good conversation which flows from topic to topic circling always around the divine and often crossing into the sacred. He will leave the place in the company of his friend, and they will share the walk together for a ways as the last glimpses of daylight fade in the west. His friend turns to his own way at some point bidding him goodnight, and he returns the jester feeling suddenly the call to rest. His steps homeward are slow and thoughtful. The place is going is really a home, it facades beckoning to him with the promise of comfort and community. As he goes through the front door life is all around him, and there are few more faces to greet and few more brief conversation to hold before he is well and truly in his own place. A smile comes to his feature as he thinks of young children scampering through the halls, of neighbors sharing news of the day, and asking after his own. He imagines another face, one he has seen in his mind since he was a boy. She has a shy smile for him that makes him forget his weariness. They fall into talking effortlessly, spending the hours in the common area others coming and going barely noticed but ever welcomed. It is late when they slowly taper off and say their goodnights, and he thinks someday soon they will not being going to opposite sides of the hall, and from her last fleeting glance he knows she is thinking the same. The bliss of these thoughts carries him into deep and restoring sleep. He will awake with vigor prepared to live another day.

            He walks through the door, the scene is his. Rain falls against a metal roof competing with the sounds of roaring beast from the wall his wardens watching the edges of his prison. He can see a dole facade across the parking lot lifeless and lonely. He will not meet any friends on his way. He will not go to a home. He will not talk with anyone. He will not sleep well at all. He will not awake ready for the day ahead. He is not alive, but he is moving.

            He is like us longing for something better he can never seem to find. He longs for a place which is safe, yet interesting filled with things to do and places to be. He desires a place not just to live, but to strive and to belong. He wants also to belong within a group of people, a community, wherein he has a role to play. He wants to have true friends, to know and ot be known. He craves true love. He wants purpose, fulfilling work which he can do gladly, and which he can rest from easily. The wisdom of this world tells him such things cannot be had, certainly not all at once. The wisdom of this world tells him to give-up on these dreams and settle for what is at hand. The wisdom of this world tells him to step out the door and resign himself to a disappointing evening, a restless night, and a tomorrow that holds nothing new, nothing better.

            A better wisdom tells him to keep dreaming, to keep hoping for that other world. The better wisdom tells him that one day he will find the door into life before him and he will walk through it. The better wisdom tells him that a carpenter came to open that door for him, and that this same carpenter has gone before to build the dream he wishes to live in. The better wisdom tells it is true, it is coming, tomorrow holds something better for it brings him closer to the life he was made for. The true wisdom says, “Just a little longer and you will be fully alive. There will be something even more wonderful than the vision you hold in your mind.”