The Young Man, Lost
I am in a cave struggling toward a spot of light. It’s impossible to go any other way, even though I don’t know what what’s there at the end — probably no end at all. It could be a war zone or Xanadu or the same place I just came from. Maybe it isn’t the place that matters, only the light. Easy to say when it’s just me coming out the hole. But I am the head of a pilgrim family.
I am the head of a pilgrim family escaping not from but to, mastering the minimum requirements for building a city on a hill. But I don’t know when I’ll pass that threshold; when I think I’m ready, I fail, and when I say “Not yet!” someone needs me to take responsibility. So I struggle to achieve that which I cannot and keep my family fed. But I dream of ventures.
I dream of ventures into great risk and days spent pouring myself out into the great, eternal ocean. And in that ocean, I could see that my efforts weren’t wasted, that they flooded the empty, barren lands and brought forth life abundant. So forward I go to my grand try, but I cannot go far, because I am in a cave, struggling toward a spot of light.