Time to move on

I had a dream last night. I was standing on a long, straight dusty
road and I had been for some time. No-one around for miles. Infront of
me, far in the distance was a cityscape. Behind me was a ridge of
snowcovered mountains.

I was completely naked and very cold. But up the path, toward the city
I could just make out several articles of clothing placed at various
points along the route.

Now, I'm no psychoanalist but I think that I was probably cold because
I had just climbed the mountains without any clothes on (well who
wouldn't be?). I had stopped there on that road unsure of what to
do.

I was frozen in one place. Could see the ability to become warm, to
heal, directly in my sight. But the thought of the pain of that
journey, of having to force my frostbitten limbs to carry me even a
step further seemed far beyond my strength.

But I wanted it.

Oh yes. I remeber that very clearly. I was desperate to get to that
place. To the people and noise, the trafic and the fun and well, just
to LIFE. But the way seemed too much, too hard.

So I had stayed there. Frigid in a bitter wind. Colder than I had ever
been in my life, and getting more so by the minute. But totally unable
to make the decision to do something, anything to help myself.

My body was beginning to shut down. I was becomming larthargic. It was
safe there. If I didn't move I could lie down, maybe fall asleep and I
wouldn't have to worry anymore.

I wouldn't have to TRY anymore.

I was dying there on that road.

I was letting my circumstances, by fears and my tiredness kill me
because I was too cowardly to risk the torture and trials of normal,
everyday LIFE. And everything that that entails.

Even the good things. I was afraid of them too. Of the clothes in the
road.
I couldn't face the responsibility of being warm. Because then I'd have
no excuse to give up would I?

I couldn't go back. I looked over my shoulder and shuddered as I
remembered what I had been through in those snowy, terrifying peaks. I
was here now. I had made it this far. The promised land was staring me
in the face.

Right there. Just beyond my reach.

But was it?

I could see a bright purple jumper, half on, half off the edge of the
road. It wasn't that far. If I could just reach it......maybe...

I started to get up. The pain hit me all at once and I nearly sat down.
I wobbled as if on the edge of a great precepice for a moment. But I
persevered.

It took all the willpower I had to lift my left foot up and slowly
place it infront of me. As I did so it knocked against something
soft.

I looked down, and there, gently blowing in the wind was a pair of
white cotton knickers.

I had been too busy looking longingly at that warm purple jumper and
the freedom of the city that I hadn't realised the first step had
already been taken.

I was on my way to becomming fully clothed and warm and eventually, if
I walked far enough, and stayed on the road, even happy.

It was still incredibly painful. But with my knickers on I had a sudden
burst of energy. I was going to get that jumper, and those jeans and
that coat and I was going to get myself, force myself to the end of
that road no matter what.

It would get easier. It had to. I'd get there one day.

But for now I was content to be on my way. For it was finally time to
move on.

One step at a time.