Buford walked down the clear gurgling stream, stepping carefully on the smooth stones with the most color. The dappling shade from the overhanging trees sometimes caused a misstep but this really didn’t matter in the big picture of things since the rules imposed upon the stepping came from within Buford’s own guide book and thus were made to be broken.
For Buford most always drew himself guidelines around activities; even the mundane. Their closure gave him the illusion of correctness, and correctness brought safety, and safety brought freedom, hence in Buford’s mind, rules and freedom have become synonymous.
Thankfully for Buford’s sake, along with his painfully acute desire for order, he also has a deep seated unruly rebellious nature, for otherwise the rules he creates for himself could take on a life of their own, beyond the bounds of simple ruled guidelines, and grow and feed on his fear of failure and of the unknown. Thus binding him forever in a single minded direction, unable to step outside into over there, where passion hides.
There was a time when Buford was confused and did not value the untamable quirk in his makeup. He actually despised its existence and put all his energy into smothering any spark that would flicker and attempt to bring about some light into his dismal state of being, and then one day the Word reached deep into his soul and peace descended, and there was light to guide Buford’s steps as he ventured outside the lines.
Still, day by day, task by task, Buford finds the need to remind himself that is okay to break the rules, that freedom is his for the taking. That really the rules are only guidelines created to impose some semblance of order in the otherwise frightening experience of the unknown, and order and dependability are a good thing, until they are not.