In C. S. Lewis second piece of the Space Trilogy, Perelandra, he speaks through one of his characters The Green Lady to comment on ontology. She says, "The world is so much larger than I thought. I thought we went along paths-- but it seems there are no paths. The going itself is the path" (p. 60). Having section hiked the Appalachian Trail a few times, I can concur that there is truth to this statement. This is also tapping into ideas that the Inklings are flirting with of finding truth through stories and adventure. It is only afterwards that we acknowledge the paths we chose; however, seldom do we reflect on paths as we are taking them. Just like with these stories that the Inklings write: they do not want to prescribe meaning from them. They want to create meaning as they write them.
Often times I wonder about the paths that we are set on, and our freedom in them. As I reflect on my life, it seems that many of the decisions I made were limited, that I really didn't choose to go here and there. Often I feel like I've been led by a feeling to this or that; however, not a short term feeling. This emotion possesses longevity in a seemingly incommunicable way. It's a warmness that holds me even when supposedly choose "the wrong path." It reminds me that there are no wrong paths, or at least if there were, it would not lead me there. Once again this is hard to explain, but it transcends our notion of paths, journeys, and stories. They only become so after the fact. This warmness invites me choose as I will, yet comforts me regardless of that choice. It's seemingly both freedom and fate. Some form of paradox.
Our conversation will often go: "Where to next?" I ask.
No answer, or at least no verbal reply.
"Alright," I powerlessly respond. "Let's go there."
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