Assuming that the wise men were real, I might wonder if they ever thought they would ever reach the place where Jesus was? Did they begin to have doubts, as their hunger increased, their animals tired, their bodies registered fatigue? Did they have creeping doubts as to what they might find when they got to the place where the star had lead them.
The mystic in me knows that the “mist” creates a refracted truth that makes it often difficult to see my way forward–that’s probably both a blessing and a curse. On this eve of Epiphany, I find myself drawn to the figures NOT traveling from a distance but rather the quiet, crouched, obedient patient ones–the ones full of stars and revelation–full of truth just waiting to be explode in all directions conveying maybe the most important good news of all—the answer lies in a million different directions, and in a million different paths, all pointing to the central source that regardless of what happens, I am enough.