The traveler wandered a short distance and made his bed on the shore of a lake. The moon was full and he lay under the heavens gazing at the familiar constellations, but something began to stir inside him and he had difficulty sleeping. "Some nights are too sorrowful for words," he thought, "yet they must be. For the dawn can never heal what the night doesn’t know."
His reverie continued. The world is not perfect so there’s no need to rail at the imperfection. And in that moment, all became perfect again. The traveler looked at the heavens and no longer saw the constellations. For the first time in his life, he saw the stars. When he awoke, sorrow had surrendered to song.
In the gloaming there appeared a young man with a lute that had carved upon it a golden rose. He sat down to play and bade the traveler listen to his wordless prayer. The strains of a beautiful pavane, tender and purposeful, filled the clearing. At the end of a slow, ascending arpeggio there arose from within him a being of such beauty that the traveler gasped. It was as though the young man’s soul had risen up and returned after a long absence.
This soul was joined by two more, of equal beauty. These three numinous beings danced a dance of compassion, humility, creativity, and above all else, love, to the accompaniment of the golden rose lute. The pavane for all souls was a gentle beacon sent out amid violence and loss, inviting our souls to dance with us once again. When it was over the traveler sat motionless. He didn’t want to break the delicious stillness. When he finally moved, it was with softness.
The traveler came upon a vast plain in the center of which arose a mountain. At its base was a hermit making preparations to travel to the summit. When he asked the traveler to join him, the traveler said that it seemed like long way to walk. “Who said anything about walking?” replied the hermit, “We’re going to dance our way to the top!”
At the summit, the hermit began to sing a song. There emerged from the mists a warrior with whom he had battled long ago. To the traveler’s amazement, the hermit and the warrior embraced. In their wisdom they had learned that their shared participation in the birth of each other’s wounds connected them far more than their youthful fears had divided them.
Night fell and the traveler made his way to a clearing in the forest. He lay down to rest and heard a beautiful melody float down to earth, as if borne by the moonlight. This melody carried him far away into the night.
The traveler followed a path down to a stream. That’s where he first saw the girl without arms. She appeared exquisitely beautiful and helpless in the moonlight. For a brief moment, when she wasn’t looking, he truly saw her… and perfection let its feet get wet.
The traveler walked slowly along a narrow path that made its way through a grove of trees. That’s when he caught a glimpse of the pilgrim. The pilgrim’s passion for his quest was so inspiring that it was some time before the traveler realized the unevenness his steps.
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