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He walked miles. Sometimes he took a right. Sometimes a left. He even tried going straight but you can't do that when there is a fork in the road. Throughout his journey, he dug ditches and climbed out of them. He also swung from the tip of the moon and crawled at the bottom of the sea where it was too deep for light to penetrate.
He held his breath when he ran through the poisonous haze that made seeing ahead a blur and tip-toed gingerly among the buttercups so as not to crush them beneath his feet. And he walked.
He came to rely on the Bluebird that either perched on his shoulder or accompanied him in the air, the strong and sturdy walking stick that he always kept at his side, and the leather pouch that hung from his neck. Even when he was tired from walking, he was always aided and never alone.
One day he met his greatest challenge. Ahead of him was the biggest chasm he had ever seen. He wanted to turn around and go back, but when he looked for the road behind him, it was just overgrown vegetation. His only option was to walk forward. He bristled and screamed and raised his fists in the air, one hand still holding the walking stick. "Why?!" Sweat burst from his pores making the leather pouch chafe against his chest and the bluebird took to the air. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to do THIS!"
He hung his head and just stood there. Looking up, he whispered to the bluebird, "I don't want to do this." She cocked her head and answered him. He looked at her. She puffed up her feathers and sung her answer again. Sighing, he stepped forward and immediately lost his footing on the loose dirt and rocks. He rolled down the side of the chasm, his back hitting a large rock, his legs trying to make gravity stop its pull, and his hands looking for anything he could grab onto.
With a thump, he landed on his butt. He tried to catch his breath but he had had the air knocked out of him so he panicked. He pounded the earth with his fists, his eyes wide with fear. It got quiet and he passed out.
He jolted awake when his walking stick slammed into his ribs, having made the downhill journey at a much slower pace than he. Damaged but alive, he sat up. Bluebird had been waiting for him to open his eyes and when he did she sang her greeting. He waved at her and then felt for the pouch, making sure it had survived the fall, which it had.
He took stock of himself and his surroundings. The sky looked much further away and this was the deepest in the ground he had ever been. It was a scary place. Too dark. Too damp. And too many spiders! He hated spiders. Creepy. "What the hell am I supposed to do now," he asked himself. His back hurt from hitting the rock and the palms of his hands were scraped up.
Bluebird didn't answer his question. Instead, she perched on his shoulder. Movement ahead caught his eye and he squinted, trying to make the form come into focus. It moved slowly, each step a process. Finally, he realized it was a very large turtle. It craned its neck and regarded him. "You are here."
The man hesitated in answering. "Should I know you?" He studied the turtles eyes and beak. Its carapace was a work of art.
"No. It is a form of welcome."
The man nodded. Curious, he asked, "Do you get many visitors?"
"Enough. But they are unimportant. You are here."
Looking around he replied, "I sure am." The turtle was quiet and an uncomfortable silence blanketed the place. "So...why am I here?"
"It's your path."
"My path, huh? I didn't want to come here. I had no choice. I was forced into coming here. I am hurt, damaged, and angry about being here. This was not my choice. There was no other direction available to me." He stood up, his staff in his right hand. Bluebird flew from his shoulder to a leafless tree branch to watch from a safe distance.
"But it was your choice. No one makes your path but you."
A spark of anger flashed inside the man at the turtle's logic. "Being here...Was. Not. My. Choice. Why would I want this experience? It's dark, gloomy, far from the sky. There are creepy crawly things skittering about. I'm hurt." He put one hand on his back and massaged it. "I can't imagine learning anything good from this place."
The turtle slowly and steadily stepped closer to the man. He could now see the details of the turtle's neck skin and nostrils. The shell was even more amazing. The design so intricate.
Looking the man square in the eyes, the turtle said, "You will find your way out of here only when you have learned your truths. It is up to you. It is all up to you. This was your choice."
With that, the turtle made his slow march back into the shadows. The man watched in silence until he no longer could see it. Defeated and not knowing what else to do, he presented his pointer finger to Bluebird. She flew over and perched on it and let the man absentmindedly pet her beautiful blue feathers.
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