Monday, October 7, 2013

On Purpose


I crossed the line.
I didn’t mean to. 
Who drew that damn line anyway?  And who decided it was not to be crossed?  Why draw a line and expect no one to want to see what is on the other side?  We are told to stay inside the lines as children, but do we?  Never.  The temptation, danger and intrigue of the unknown; it breaks the will.
Why did the chicken cross the road?  Because there was a damn line!  The chicken had no choice.

I crossed the line. 
I didn’t mean to.
It was harmless, so I thought.  It’s just a line.  It’s thin.  If I don’t like it, I’ll step right back over. And no one will be the wiser.  Just a peek, I thought.  It was calling, ‘Come on in, the water’s fine!’  Or so I thought.  And so did you.

We crossed the line.
We didn’t mean to.
So we thought.  Oh, yes we did.  We leapfrogged across.  We catapulted over, never looking back to notice the line fading from view.  No tether.  A secret handshake, pinky promise; this won’t change a thing.  Or so we thought.  If we found our way back, we would never wander farther than our own backyards.  Because if it wasn’t there to begin with, we hadn’t lost it in the first place. But this aint’ Kansas.  And it certainly wasn’t Oz.  Funny, it looked like the Promised Land from our side. 

We crossed the line. 
On purpose. 
There was no oops.  There were only promises.  And promises are meant for breaking.  That’s a rule, I think.  Eve didn’t coerce Adam. Both took that step of their own volition, naked but not naïve; forever changed with one step. We both strode into that garden, of our own accord.   This new place, so tempting with that apple hanging from the lone branch—we bit in.  The juice flowed.  We bit again—mealy flesh.  The last bite—worms.

We crossed the line.
To a crumbling Oz.
Who knew?  We did.  This line, now a rocky cavern, filling fast, offered no rope, no chance of reprieve.  No team effort.  It was one for one, a solo flight.

We crossed that line.
Without retreat.


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