Let us imagine a conversation. Two walk together, as in the old stories: not yet masters, nor disciples, but travelers asking real questions.
— “What is the road?”
— “It is the field where life discloses itself—where the ordinary cracks open and the Real shows through. Not a highway to perfection, but a path of participation: we do not walk alone, nor are we the authors of the road. We find ourselves always already underway, called to attend, to respond, to become.”
Spirituality is not an escape from reality; it is a courageous turning toward it. The “spiritual” is not a separate sphere. It is the depth-dimension of existence—the encounter with the more-than-what-is, the potential in each moment. As in kairos, real transformation does not just “take time”—it erupts when we discern the meaning of time, and dare to act from that discernment.
The great traditions agree: wisdom is born from lived participation. In leadership, as in life, the road demands both vulnerability (kenosis: letting go, opening up) and fidelity to what is Real (alignment, not mere autonomy). Practical wisdom is not merely cleverness or skill; it is a receptive engagement with the world—seeing what is, sensing what calls, and responding in a way that transfigures both the moment and the self.
The “spirituality of the road” is a stance:
— To live with moral attention, as if each step matters.
— To enter into relationship—not only with others, but with the whole fabric of being.
— To imagine otherwise: to cultivate a vision to see beyond what is, and to step into what could be
— To welcome uncertainty, suffering, and even failure as teachers.
— To hold power lightly, as stewardship rather than possession.
If there is a “goal,” it is not perfection, but participation: to become ever more real, more available, more attuned to the call of the Good that runs beneath things. The journey is not a solitary hero’s quest. It is a becoming-with: together, in dialogue, in tension, in hope.
Leadership too, is ultimately a spiritual road: not management of outcomes, but responsibility for time, meaning, and moral horizon. It is to bear witness to what is absent, to protect the depth of things from flattening, and to lead not by answers, but by presence—by “being on the way,” open to surprise.
As we walk, perhaps the most profound wisdom is to realize that the road itself is sacred—not because of where it leads, but because it invites us to become, here and now, more fully, more deeply human.
Or as an ancient teacher might have said: “Walk on. The way is made by walking. And the walking is the way.”