The Book of Paul

It's Sunday.  A day of rest. A day of reflection.  Some go to church to pray.  Others go to brunch for bellinis.  I choose to wander the highways with only a pile of CDs riding shotgun.  On the road, I listen to the nomadic sermons of Dylan, Seger, and Springsteen.  The great ministers of rock preach of a nostalgic oasis that all vagabond spirits seek to find.  They promise an arduous journey, but offer little direction. Disillusioned, I exit onto a barren desert road and pull over. There is only silence when I see one CD hiding behind the rest.  The Beatles' Revolver. I pop it in and hear the faithful words of my salvation before they even come out of Paul McCartney's mouth...

I was alone, I took a ride

I didn't know what I would find there

I'm instantly taken back to my 18th year.  I was sitting in a parked car on the day after my birthday when I heard the psalm I swore to live my life by.   I was alone, I took a ride, and on Cardinal Street, I found something. A feeling.  A feeling by which all others in my life would be judged...and found wanting.    Somewhere along the way, I forgot about that feeling.  No.  I just stopped looking for it.  But I remember now.  

It's time to start up the engine and drive once again.  I'll be going east this time.  New York.   I don't know what I'll find at the end of this vagabond's journey.  But isn't that really the answer to what life is?