The thing about a path in the woods is that if it is a good path, it is a well-worn path. Thousands and thousands of steps over a great many years wear the path down so that it begins to dig a deep indentation in the soil. At first the indentation is slight, but as time goes on, it becomes more pronounced. It becomes a deep groove.
Of course, it is subject to all kinds of weather--glaring
sun, torrential downpours of rain, and sheets of solid ice and snow. These weather patterns can alter the way the
path looks, but they can only do so temporarily. Once the weather patterns have passed, people
resume using the path and it becomes a smooth path once again. Any tree branches or boughs that may fall in
the path are removed by people who use the path. If they are too heavy to move, a slight
rounding of the path occurs, curving around the problem and then straightening
back out on to the path once again. A
new groove is then formed, and it becomes a permanent part of the path. The path is malleable.
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| This path is about 1.5 feet in depth. |
But just contrast this to a concrete path. How long has it been there? Unless we check city records, we really don’t
know how long. We can’t gauge by its
deep groove how good a path it is because it has no groove at all. We can’t decide upon its age and how often it
is used, thereby gauging its likely worthiness, because it is a hard concrete
path that is unaffected by the foot of man.
Who would want to follow a path that does not directly
connect to them? What I mean is, a path
through the woods is in direct connection with its users. It speaks to them. It moves with them. It shows them the simplest way to walk. It reveals historical events by etching them
in its surface. It is in constant
communication with the needs of its users, providing them with a sense of
sureness and security. And if for any
reason people stop using a path in the woods, the path dies. After a short time, it leaves no trace of
having ever existed. This is because it
is a part of each person who uses it, and its life depends on human
interaction.
Contrast that again with the concrete path, which appears
almost sterile. It neither speaks to its
users, nor does it listen. It does not
necessarily follow in the intentions of its users, having been laid out by an
agenda quite removed from the ordinary agenda of getting from point A to point
B in as simple and pleasant a way as possible.
There are no well-worn grooves on the concrete path, nothing to show
that people love it, nothing to show familiarity and security. It may be easy to walk upon in terms of
smoothness, but it is a hard and unforgiving path.
Who would want to follow a path like that? Who would want to follow a path without
familiarity, without signs of the seasons, without flowers and animals that
live in conjunction with it? On a concrete
path, the mind is not given gentle respite and pleasure, but instead becomes
dulled and robotic.
They say, “Mille
viae ducunt homines per saecula Romam,” or “a thousand roads lead men
forever to Rome.” This means that many paths can lead people to
the same goal. The question is, what is
the goal? If it is to direct people,
manage people, drive people in a certain direction, then a concrete path is
perfect for that. Indeed, the Romans
were known for their famous roads. One
of the first things they did upon conquering a nation was build their famous
Roman roads, presumably to make it easier to send troops in to control the
populace and also to collect taxes.
But the path in the woods--the well-worn path of the country
folk--that path does not lead to Rome. This particular one in the photo, with its
deep groove of over a foot in depth, merely leads down to a pleasant spot near
the river. There are no ulterior
motives, no reason to drive or control people, no hidden agenda. It is simply a pleasant way to get to the
river. And why would people want to go
to the river? Don’t ask that question in
Rome because
they won’t know the answer. But if you
ask me, I’d say the answer is: “Because
it’s there.”
