Pilgrim's Progress

On his way to work Harold accidentally stepped in a pile of mud which resulted in complicating an ankle sore that developed into an infection which he could not afford to have treated.

He told his priest about it who said, “that’s God’s way of punishing you for being so careless in the direction of your life and showing you that behavior has consequences. “

He told a philosopher friend about it who said, “that’s the universe’s way of telling you that you have to be more aware and attentive to your environment. “

He went to a Jungian therapist who said, “It reflects a deep seated self hatred. There are no accidents. You led yourself to that mud and you have also mismanaged your financial portfolio so badly that you can’t even afford to pay for your legs medical treatment.”

Distressed he consulted a friend who was a ‘motivational’ speaker and author of best selling ‘self help’ books who told him he “must learn not to use his personal wounds and misfortunes as currency, that he should simply have removed his foot from the mud and moved on with getting a life”

He went to a Zen Buddhist teacher who said, “you are getting closer to enlightenment but the path to it has many pitfalls and is filled with suffering----- You must resist identifying with the mud.” Then he added, “the poet Robert Frost told us that he came to a fork in the road and took it and that made all the difference.’ It remains a mystery how Frost knew that the road not taken was the one not taken since he was at its beginning and had not yet taken it. However you must find the ‘road not taken’ and take it, remembering that once you take the ‘road not taken’ it becomes the road taken which has an elusive significance I haven’t figured out yet. Also, always look through the mud for any pearls that may be hidden in it.”

Finally Harold went to his Senator who sent him to a social worker, Mrs Jennings who told him, “your situation is not included in the ‘social contract.’ Remember you’re not supposed to ask what your country can do for you only what you can do for it.” Harold heard her mumble ‘sucker’ under her breath as he left the office.

Wearied and disheartened by his research on the incident, he stopped in at a tavern for a beer on the way home. He sat on a stool next to an dirty unshaven old man who was staring mutely into his half empty beer glass. Harold ended up recounting his story to the old man who, after several long moments of silence, said,“ we have an irresistible need to manufacture an endless variety of plausible narratives and stories to explain our place and fate in the universe to ourselves.” Then the old man stood up, drank the last of his beer down and headed toward the door. He looked back at Harold as he went out, “Way I figure it, mud happens” he said.