Those Who Dance Are Considered Insane by Those Who Cannot Hear the Music. – George Carlin
With his long hair tied back in a ponytail and his clothes stained with sweat and dust, the man trudged up an isolated wilderness trail through the heat of a summer’s day. The small cross hanging around his neck bounced against his chest as he walked, and a black guitar case was strapped to his back with a frayed leather belt. In one hand, he was carrying an olive-green duffel bag.
As he scanned the rolling terrain for a suitable place to camp, the man was thinking about the harsh words of a family member a few months earlier. One of his older brothers, a successful business owner, had demanded to know why he had chosen to “waste his life” as an itinerant preacher and songwriter. Unoffended, the younger man hadn’t tried to explain the appeal of an uncomplicated existence, nor had he remarked that he considered it a privilege to express his gratitude and hard-won wisdom through music. Instead, he’d quietly answered that there was more than one way to be rich. Disgusted, his brother had turned away from him.
As he shrugged to re-position the guitar case on his chafing shoulders, an unruly gust of wind came down the trail and hurled a cloud of gravel into his eyes; blinking, the man realized with wry amusement that he had things in common with the ancient geography that surrounded him. Just as the staggered mountain ridges and towering rock formations had long endured driving rains, lightning strikes, and churning blizzards, something within him had held fast in the face of his brother’s stinging criticisms.
Having dedicated himself to the honest path that issued from the depths of his own spirit, the man was unwilling to give anything the power to disturb his peace. Because after all, above and beyond the ever-changing attacks of the elements, there was the steady influence and illumination of the sun.