The Story Of The Road Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

As I stand on this dusty road
Squinting into the rising sun
Scanning the horizon for signs of life
I wonder if I’m wandering into Nomad’s Land.

Rainless days have left everything in place.
Footprints, hoof prints, wagon wheel tracks,
If I take my time and examine the beaten path
It begins to tell me the story of those who came before me.
It beckons me towards the shelter where my fellow travelers,
Already weary from pilgrimages from distant villages and cities,
Lie abed, resting their heavy legs and letting their minds wander ahead
To whatever their destinations hold in promise of their arrival.

As for me, I have left nothing behind and I have nowhere to go.
I simply wander the open road like a spiritual gypsy.
I have no hope of someday being freed of my ego.
I have no wish to evaporate like mist into the whole.
I have no expectation of being welcomed into heaven
I no longer understand the concept of completion.

Instead, I look to the west and bid goodbye to my past.
Then nod to the north and south in reverence for the poles
Before greeting the sun with my first step to the east.
Continuing my pursuit of the ever-shifting future.

It is in this perpetual motion that I find the truth.
It is in this constant wandering that I meet myself.
It is in my lack of roots that I achieve freedom.
It is in my acceptance of whatever comes that I gain peace.

And so as I read the trail
I see its traces of both pain and joy,
Both separation and reunion,
Both novelty and nostalgia
And while I see where most have gone
I go my own way.