Road From Damascus

A "Road to Damascus" moment refers to a sudden turning point in one's life. It's in reference to the conversion of the apostle Paul while literally on the road to Damascus from Jerusalem. Prior to that moment, he was, according to his own writings, a Pharisee, a strict letter-of-the-law Jew who persecuted those he considered to be the heretical followers of an obscure, dead, apocalyptic Jewish prophet; he then become arguably the single most important figure in the history of the new religion with the possible exception of the founder himself.

Paul himself doesn't give much detail on the specifics of his conversion. Virtually all the information traditionally held, e.g., conversations with God and/or Jesus, flashes of light that either knocked all his traveling companions to the ground or were not seen at all by them (depending on which source you read), etc., were versions written by others between 40 and 80 years after the event and probably 20-30 years after Paul himself leaves history, purportedly last seen on his way to Rome for trial. In any case, whatever happened on the road to Damascus was certainly a watershed moment for Paul which occurred over an extremely short period of time and  which profoundly changed his life.

As a result, anyone having a sudden insight, flash of wisdom, epiphany, or radical change in their life is said to have had a "Road to Damascus" moment.

I've had those moments. I've been driven to my knees by them, been changed by them, become more aware because of them. Particularly over the last 15-20 years I came to believe things that I'd previously not believed, spiritually, personally, and interpersonally, saw flickers of possibilities and new directions where none had existed before. As I trod my long-since accepted path through the lonely, dark-crystal canyons of my life, these rare — oh, so rare — moments and times came on me in a characteristically "thunderbolt" fashion, showing me new paths and trails.

Paul, it seems, is not the only one subject to the brilliant, sense-robbing strobe of enlightenment.

New lives and possibilities stretched out before me and became articles of faith which, as I thought, were unshakable as the foundations of the earth. I lurched flash-blind and new through the gates of Damascus with the core direction of my life changed, my new journey facing the sun-soaked blue mountains beyond. I was so certain...

…and now I stagger away, crawling often as not, fleeing the high-mountain meadows that seemed a sanctuary but are revealed as box canyons,  traps littered with the crumbling bones of the unwary. As I shamble down the rocky way, seeking return to my true path, I stop to pick up dying, bloody pieces of the shadowed life I'd torn away and left lying back when I thought they were the price to pay to crest into the sun. They patch my armor, badly at first -- there is much damage. But the chinks and weakened places knit and grow stronger by the day.

On this journey back, I must needs retrace back through all the brilliant moments, undo each fork in the road. As I retreat down my own track, they fall away behind me, shrinking back to blinding points, then disappear to nothing like the rewound film of explosions. It's been long, this retracing, with stops to examine every place I thought I'd seen magic and finding nothing but false-front sets, smoke, mirrors, dust, and trapdoors. I've long since passed back through the city gates and I'm within sight now of the trail I left, and will soon finally set my feet back on the bitter path chosen in my youth.

Of course I am changed. Following even a dead-end path puts on age, uses time and resources, shows one signs and wonders that would otherwise have never been seen — so there's always change, even if it only boils down to self-amused cynicism.  But in the end, the path remains, threading the razored crystal from here to the end of me. I'm not in quite the same place I was when I chased up that imaginary track in pursuit of — something. Indeed I have learned; and hard, unforgiving lessons some of those learnings were, too.

And perhaps that's why I am content as I've never been before in my life, albeit more darkly amused. "Amor Fati", as they say — love your fate, not just bear it. Or the modern version, pounded into me in a different time and place, although only lately fully understood — "Embrace the Suck".

In the end, it always turns out the same: It's only life.