Simple Things/ Lang Kenneth Haynes

              You are here
   Have you ever had the frightening experience of being hopelessly lost in the woods, and then coming upon an old tree with a faded map tacked
to it, wrapped in plastic, with a red dot with an arrow pointing to it that read, “You are here”? Have you ever been so overwhelmed by bills that you
just stick new bills in a drawer with the old bills without even opening them – and then one day getting the courage to open the envelopes to tally up
what you actually have to pay out? It’s likely that you owe more than you can afford at once, but there is some relief in knowing an actual amount
rather than pounding yourself into the ground with thoughts of not having enough or not being enough or otherwise belittling ourselves.
    There is a curious relief that comes with this knowledge, like being lost in the woods only to find a map that confirms your lostness, because the
reference points mean nothing, but at least you know where you are. It might be more accurate to say that at least you know where you are not, and
you are not at home and there is no assurance that you can get there from where you are. But this is good to know. It’s more than you knew before
bumping into the map that — coupled with your instincts and experiences — form the totality of what you know at the moment. And that is the
knowledge that you have to move forward with. It’s like being stranded on an island and the only possible means of escape is an old beat up rubber
raft with questionable patches fortified with the sap of some indigenous tree. Your choices are not great but they are clear. Stay where you are or
trust the raft.
    And that’s where we are. Trust the raft or stay where we are. The raft represents taking advantage of all known available resources and fortifying
those resources (in this case adding tree sap to the patches on the old raft) in order to move forward, or we can stay where we are. We can opt for
inertia. Stuff messages in bottles and throw them out to sea. Eat bananas until we start to walk like chimpanzees. Or we can cast our fate to the
ocean, the creatures that live there, the currents, the wind and the raft.
    Maybe it’s a matter of constantly trying to see how and where we fall in the great scheme of things. We try to surround ourselves with the familiar,
the known or at least we seek the things we think we know. Perhaps this is connected to the fascination that some have with astrology. The stars are
far enough away that we can notice their patterns when seen from this little dot in the Universe we call Earth. It’s much harder to see Earthly
constellations. Hard to see how we are juxtaposed to our family members, neighbors, jobs or how one place of worship relates to another. It’s hard to
see that we are all striving, trying to give meaning, searching for words to explain the unexplainable or creating forms to represent the formless.
Difficult to realize that life at street level is organized in a way that is as predictable and orderly as heavenly constellations. It’s hard to see things
when held too closely. Almost impossible to see things that are right in front of our noses. And the task of pinpointing where we are is not always
made easier by maps that range from the gross to the subtle. Maps of massive land and water formations. Maps of different climates and weather
movements. Maps of regions of countries. Maps of states, cities and cities within cities. Biofeedback machines to tell us how we feel. Global
positioning systems to tell us more precisely where we are. Heart-rate monitors to remind us that we have hearts and all kinds of other devices that tell
us where and how we are. We are here. Thank goodness. Instruments confirm that we are actually here.
    Funny thing is that we carry internal compasses with us at all times. And they are free. They come as part of a package deal. They are not
dependent on technology. When we are lost it is because we ignore the coordinates that are there for the asking. When we feel at home it is because
we allowed ourselves to experience our cosmic G-Spot or God Spot. When we are off track it is sometimes as obvious as being between two stations
on a radio dial. Mostly static with occasional faint sounds that may resemble familiar tunes. Increasing the volume will not make the station come in
any clearer. Avoiding the present, the place we happen to be on the map, will not get us home any faster. Avoidance is the favorite food of
separation. And home is not defined by a particular physical place. Home does not rely on a set of perfect conditions. Home does not require
absolute quiet because as many know silence can be the most deafening of sounds and one can experience a delicious form of silence in the
middle of rush hour traffic in a bustling city.
    Buying new shoes, eating a box of Twinkies, or getting stoned on whatever substance will only postpone confronting the red spot on the map. The
space where we are. The place that is the essence of all the places we’ve been, people we’ve known and situations in which we’ve thrived or merely
survived. And what we do this very second — the degree to which we acknowledge the red spot that represents the confluence of everything that has
ever been - will determine what our futures look like. Futures that might appear to be very different, but they will all have one thing in common: a red
spot that screams out or whispers YOU ARE HERE.