The Rich Man’s Treasure

There was a man who had a treasure,
Not the kind found,
The kind earned.
He carried it on his back, everywhere he went.
He was strong.
He used it to open doors,
That opened doors,
That opened doors,
and he went deeper and deeper,
Into a maze with gold lined walls,
And tiled floors of rubies, diamonds, emeralds.
Beauty surrounded him,
And he was happy.

But one day,
He heard a voice over the wall.
A voice that called his name.
The sound reached his heart,
And he heard love,
Not like the camaraderie of his companions,
Those that enjoyed good times with him,
That made happy memories of fun filled days.
Not even like that from his sweetheart,
Who smothered him with kisses and warm embraces.
Different love, foundational, unwavering.
This voice knew him,
Really knew him,
And though he felt exposed, he was altogether unashamed.
“Who is it that calls me?”
But there was no answer, just his name once more spoken.
Again he felt so completely undone,
Completely accepted,
Fully understood,
That a desperation grew in him, a need to know this person who called.
What did he need to do to find his way to the voice?
But he scolded himself for allowing the disruption of an invitation.
After all how could he need anything?
He had everything in his treasure,
A treasure not found but earned,
A summit reached after passing the test,
Putting in the time,
The sweat,
The sweet recompense of hard work.
What could there possibly be beyond all that he gained by his treasure?
The voice called again.
But he was so far down the hallways and through doorways in the maze,
He did not remember the way out to the place where all he had was the shirt on his back.
But there was a door.
A narrow door.
He opened it and saw beyond to a dry, dusty road, meager grass, a straight path with no twists to the left or the right.
There were footprints on the trail and he wanted to follow them.
He felt sure the destination was good though the journey austere.
The warmth of the security behind crept up his neck and radiated at his feet, as he stood at the threshold.
If he stepped onto the dirt, would he loose all he had obtained, his place in the world?
Maybe if he ventured a few steps, see who it was that spoke and offer a place in the maze then he could have it all;
Be in the presence of that love and hold unto the treasure.
But as he took a step forward, the treasure on his back blocked the doorway and would not allow him to pass.
The man stood there at that threshold, wanting with almost all his heart to know the one who called him but he could not fathom leaving the treasure.
Live as though he did not deserve the honor of it?
How could that be the way to something better?
And so he pondered this paradox.

He may be standing at that doorway this very moment,
And he may be there for years to come,
Perhaps in the stillness of the night,
In the frailty of age,
In the shadow of death,
he will figure it out.

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