Weisenbach, Christine

Digital Commons @ Butler University

I"A Pit Stop on the Road of LifeI grab my bag by its reigns and pull it to a yielding halt. "Slow down," I say. "Let me see your ammu-nition." As I dump my life out on the table of examination, I question the contents. What role in thisgame of survival has each played? What significance does each possess? The objects' responses comerushing over me like running waves upon a shore. The seashell whispers of memories, childhood, andlaughter past while the eraser, long since worn away, recounts lost mistakes and lessons learned.Throughout their vivid conversations, the puzzle piece sits silently on the table's edge. First glancemight cause one to believe her strong and silent, yet she holds quite an important role within the bag.She is a misplaced but clearly significant cornerstone piece that fits within a grand puzzle created by aBeing much superior than the clumsy hand which vainly tries to fit the game together; even the pair ofglasses with its dirt-covered lenses cannot see the artwork this piece is to ultimately create. Perhaps itis not for them to see.Next, I stumble upon the dice. Ah, old, consistent, and reliable Mr. Dice. Shiny and ancient,yet brand-new. He prides himself as full of opportunities, risks, and changes. One must not overlookthe caution he warns; dice-users must beware of the consequences that may prevail upon usage.However, dice are necessary. They are important elements in the game of life. In my life, Mr. Dice istreasured yet usually forgotten and underused; consequently, he remains sealed, tightly bound like a peahidden beneath a mattress only for the knowing to find and the rest to overlook.The only other items visible to the eye that remain scattered on this table are the paintbrush andpipe cleaner. The brush's story quickly drowns out the latter and recounts his grand purpose in the lifeof mine. He proclaims, "I am your loud hand. I am your voice in a deaf world. I am your tool to cre-ation, expression, and strength and your key to the door of reason and existence in a forever blindworld. I am .... " Crunch. Twist. Bend. The mute, crumbled pipe cleaner twists and turns, strangledby the weight of problems and ideas not yet understood. Just as suddenly as she is noticed she is over-looked.And so my bag of life, having poured forth its contents and purposes, is complete. Or is it?Once again the frequently overlooked and perhaps most valuable item has been forgotten and coveredby the rest: space or lack thereof. Is this bag half empty or half full? My life still has time left eventhough time's voice cannot be heard through the dense paper of this bag. Or maybe this unidentifiableitem called "space" is actually a breath of fresh air, a pathway to joy and freedom. Perhaps this "space"is none of the above; maybe it is simply an opportunity for change. Maybe a little extra room has beenreserved to make necessary or desired alterations.Within my bag more remains to be discovered and shared. Only few people have examined the truecontents of it; even I do not know nor fully understand what my bag contains. Therein lies the greatmystery of life. This mystery is a treasure only few recognize and even less strive to solve. Hopefullyone day this mystery will share its story just as my other miscellany have done. As I glance up frommy thoughts, my bag's ammunition has already secured its position within the paper's dark grasp. As tobe expected, my bag suddenly dashes off into the unknown while I hold on tight for the ride of my life.- Christine Weisenbach

A Pit Stop on the Road of Life

http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4249&context=manuscripts

A Pit Stop on the Road of Life

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Digital Commons @ Butler University