Have you ever felt like you've wanted to walk and not turn back? Have you ever been taken with the notion and desire to just keep walking -- that there was something waiting for you miles ahead that you just had to see and touch? You don't know precisely what that "something" is that pulls at you, but it is something of force nonetheless. And yet, a lack of time and leg strength ultimately prevails and back you go to the starting point -- having not walked the sufficient number of miles to reach that "something."

That feeling is coming over me again -- the desire to just keep walking without deference to time or leg strength. If you have read enough of these Jim's Views columns then you would know how fond I am of the Erie Canal and its towpath as the remnant exists in western Onondaga County. I find exercise and great peace in running and walking that towpath through Camillus and Warners and sometimes further west through Memphis.

I woke this morning after an interesting, intriguing, and wonderful dream that seemed so very real. The place and the setting were familiar enough, as it was the Erie Canal Towpath through Warners, and I was headed west in the direction of Memphis. In the dream it was December of 2009. It was sundown, and being that I was headed in a westerly direction I was looking toward the setting sun as it was slipping away from a cloudy sky. The sky along the horizon was clear and lightly colored, but above it was clouds that had dropped a dusting of snow the previous night and those clouds lingered throughout the following day and into this sunset.

This section of towpath in Warners --officially called Towpath Road-- is gravel, enabling motor vehicles to drive on it as well as bicyclists and joggers. There are many potholes, and the potholes in the area where I was walking were filled with water as the dusting of snow that fell the previous night had melted. The brilliant sunset was reflecting off of the pothole puddles, making them appear as gold. There are so many of these puddles reflecting the sunset that the entirety of Towpath Road looks golden as I am facing west.

Being amazed by the peculiar beauty of a gravel road appearing golden, and spurred on by the compelling notion to continue walking despite time and perceived distance, I continue trekking westward. I am thinking that it is late in the day and I should turn around and walk back to the Newport Road parking area and head home, but I don't want to as there is really nothing there for me. The canal itself is gray with streaks of sunset paint splashed about its surface, which indicates the lateness of the day and that I should head back -- but I cannot. The barrenness of the trees indicates the season -- it's almost Christmas! In my mind I hear a hauntingly beautiful rendition of the Carole Of The Bells which is tied for first place on my Christmas song chart, Oh Holy Night sharing the number one spot.

Heading westward I am walking straight into a light but cold breeze. The air temperature itself would be around 40 degrees, but this breeze is noticeably colder and yet it is refreshing. I'm glad that I was smart enough to wear my orange knit hat and black leather Isotoner gloves. Still, the hat and gloves can do nothing to prevent the chill from penetrating my face.

Such a beautiful sunset painted orange, yellow, purple, and salmon colors. And yet, "Old Sol" himself is still there on the western horizon, as though he wants to get his last licks in before slipping out of sight and yielding to the night. My sense of responsibility and propriety is nagging me, telling me that I need to turn around and walk the mile and a quarter back to my car -- but yet something tugs me westward and I just have to keep on walking, in spite of the cold and the looming dark of night.

There are many memories here on the old Canal in Warners. Gosh, I've pulled some whopping Largemouth Bass and Northern Pike out of this water-filled ditch created at man's hand. I don't fish on this section any longer, as the water itself is deteriorating. And in that I am reminded that this world itself is deteriorating.

The northern side of Towpath Road, opposite the canal itself, has seen some development over the years, as a topsoil company and some sort of trucking firm have set up shop in what was once field and trees. This particular section of Canal park isn't the refuge that it was for me as a teenager, but yet the draw is still there. And that draw to keep on walking is powerful indeed...

It is now that I get the feeling that I may not stop walking. It is now that I get the notion that this towpath and this canal don't have an end. I am being urged on by something unseen and yet comfortably familiar. I am being urged on by a deep, deep longing. At the same time, there is a force that is attempting to make me feel guilty for staying out here too long. There is a force that is trying to pull me back. There is a force that is accusing me of being irresponsible. There is, in a word, a tormentor who is trying to strip away the joy of this walk.

"Keep walking and don't turn back. Don't give in to what the world tells you to do. Don't let that tormentor rob you of your joy, because he cannot. Keep walking and don't turn back."

His voice was forceful yet soothing, and the command was clear: "Come to me. I am here at the end of your towpath -- but -- I am likewise there, walking alongside you."

"I gave you strong legs and you won't get tired. Come to me, my child. Keep walking. I am the Sheppard and my sheep know my voice."

I don't know how much time may have passed, but the sun was still on the western horizon and not yet out of sight. The puddles still reflected gold, and I could see it for miles. I was now on a section of towpath I had never seen before, and yet it was familiar. It was long, straight, and glowed in a subdued golden color. As it extended on toward the horizon, it appeared to bend slightly upward to the sky, above the sunset. At the end was a gentle, warm, and comforting glow...

I awoke at 4:50 a.m. My room was dark, save for the light from my computer. I awoke with a bit of knowledge, or perhaps confirmation of something I've known for some time. This knowledge was profound and yet simple in its truth:

The Erie Canal through Onondaga County has been a place of refuge, solitude, recreation, and joy to me since I was 11 years old. I still recall the first time that my father and his friend Paul Puttkamer took me and Paul Jr. fishing there -- in Warners, right near the very spot that this dream began.

The Erie Canal represents to me the River of Life that flows through the Heavenly New Jerusalem. The Canal is certainly not as beautiful as that heavenly river, but for me it is a mere foretaste of what awaits. In a small way, it is life-giving to me for the refuge, solitude, recreation, and joy that it has provided over the years.

The Towpath that travels alongside the canal represents to me the streets of gold that await when my days of walking here on earth are finished -- whether it be via the Rapture or through my death, whichever comes first. Certainly, the towpath is soil and gravel and not golden, but when the setting sun reflects off of the puddles --like it did in my dream -- the appearance is indeed golden and again it is but a mere foretaste of what awaits. In particular, the towpath brings to mind that Heavenly street that will run parallel to the River of Life, which leads to the throne of the One, True, Living, Triune God. That beautiful river flows from His throne, and what a sight it will be to behold!

It is now abundantly clear why the Old Erie Canal and its Towpath have such a powerful attraction to me. Thank you, Lord, for my reassuring dream. I think it is time to dress warmly and go for a long walk. Anyone care to join me?