Where else has it been,
the water that flows today
in the river beside me?
What song would it sing
of otherwhere? And other
otherwhere? And what
could it teach me of flow?
I think of how I carry with me
all the places I have been—
old cities with cobblestones
and mountaintops above the trees
and aspen glades and dark corners
that stink of sweat and piss
and bright hospital rooms and
cemeteries on hills.
Who would I be without
every trail I have hiked,
every bed I have tossed in,
every table where I’ve wept?
Watch how the waves seem
to stay in the same place
though the water that makes them
is never the same, a fact
that thrills me again and again.
Who will take my place here
when my own water flows on?
Or will the wave disappear
as after a flood?
And who has come before me
making this wave I call my life?
How easily it changes the day
to know self as a drop
in the stream.
Posts Tagged ‘river’
In the Flow
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged flow, river on January 4, 2024| 12 Comments »
A Blessing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, Christmas, love, peace, river on December 25, 2023| 11 Comments »
Dear Friends,
This one is for you. And for everyone. May deep peace find us–even in places it seems impossible. Even when it’s beyond our own capacity, may it grow in us, surprise us again and again.
Rosemerry
A Blessing
And if there is peace to be found,
may it remake you
the way the sunrise
remakes each morning,
the way birdsong
remakes the air,
may peace find you
again and again,
and may it shape
and reshape you
the way the river
creates its bed
simply by flowing.
It Was Impossible Until It Wasn’t
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apology, obstacle, river on December 10, 2023| 5 Comments »
It was like an ice floe in December,
when the river builds up a dam of ice
and then backs up,
and the pressure builds
until the river is powerful enough
to break the dam down.
This is how it was when,
sitting beside you in the car
and longing for closeness,
I felt it, my inner river churning
against the wall between us,
and I realized I’d created it
with my own coldness—
and then came the rush of warm tears
and the gush of a desperate “I’m sorry.”
And in an instant
the dam broke
and the car was bank full
with thick currents of laughter
and I was so grateful
for the one brave second
when the heart knew the truth—
how we move forward
when we see how we’ve made
obstacles of ourselves
and then use everything we’ve got
to bring them down.
A Tale of Two Dreams
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dream, grief, healing, river, wonder on September 9, 2023| 6 Comments »
I slipped into the river by choice
and the current did not steal me away.
All around me was golden light.
I pulled my hands through clear water,
then raised them to the sky,
To my surprise, I had gathered
from below the surface a shimmering amethyst glitter
now suspended and radiant in the air.
When I woke, I recalled a dream
from two years ago, such desperate days.
I’d fallen in the river by accident
and the current pulled me quickly from shore.
No choice but go through long rapids.
Muddy waves crashed over me.
Whirlpools pulled me down.
I knew it would be hard. I knew I could swim.
Oh, swimmer, you have been carried
by the waters that would drown you.
Great waves. Strong forces. The silt falling out.
Of course, you are weeping with grief, with wonder.
Once Upon a Song
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heart, river, song, tears on August 16, 2023| 14 Comments »
While dancing barefoot in wet grass
with the dark all around us and
the star-bright sky above
and a song in the air and joy
and sorrow crashing through me
in equal force, it is only now
with tears running down my face
I realize the tears themselves
are the river where I can lay down
my burdens, these tears are the stream
that will never run dry, these tears
are the river where I will again
and again and again return to pray,
Oh sister, let’s go down, come on down,
and Hallelujah, at last I know the river
is nowhere if not in my heart,
and if there’s a river here,
then every moment is a baptism,
every moment a chance to be lifted,
to be healed.
Standing Beside the River with Lulu
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged loss, paradox, river, rocks on August 9, 2023| 9 Comments »
Within minutes of weeping,
we are tossing rocks
into the river, the bigger
the splash, the larger
our laugh, and we toss
and we toss in a sweet
and urgent ritual of loss.
Slipping in the mud,
it feels right we should
lose our balance. What is
this life, after all, but a constant
slipping, a constant recalibrating,
a constant learning to find
new paths toward each other?
This life, it turns out,
is likely to pick us up
and throw us into the deep
to see what happens next.
But on this night,
we pick up more stones
and toss and toss and toss.
Not one of them floats.
But we do.
Riparian Soul
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged community, generosity, river, service, work on June 7, 2023| 11 Comments »
for Kathy Jepson who lives and works in the San Miguel River Canyon
Some people are rivers—
always moving, always in flow.
Wherever they are,
life flourishes. They nourish,
they support, they sustain,
and they change the shape
of the landscape—
carving new paths around obstacles,
softening what is sharp.
Some people are rivers—
the lifeblood of a valley.
Forceful at times,
at other times gentle,
but constant, so constant
you could take them for granted—
like a woman with a headset
and a clipboard,
a pencil tucked in her hair
standing behind a curtain
so others can shine.
Some people are rivers.
You know who they are
because all around them
everything is growing,
everything they touch.
And you realize you can’t imagine
being without them—
everywhere you look,
you see how quietly,
how powerfully
they have transformed the world.
Hymn
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, loss, mother, river, song on January 26, 2023| 12 Comments »
The shocking tender curl of him,
wild river, raging, rush of him,
the eddied, lazy swirl of Sunday
morning sleepy smile of him,
the flood-stage leaping wave of him,
high overflowing shores of him,
torrential reckless course of him,
now empty, unfilled banks of—
dry barren rocky bed of—
the utter lack of here of—
the pray-for-rain parched air of him,
dark growing rain cloud storm of him,
the sometimes-I-hear-rapids hum,
deep currents in my lungs of him
how is it I still breathe him in—
the river is inside me hymn.
That Beautiful Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, beauty, boat, grief, memory, mother, origami, river, son on October 12, 2022| 7 Comments »
Memory of sitting by the river,
you taking my picture,
the leaves around us
already changing—
you were happy that day,
camera in hand,
no hint of sorrow,
no augury of grief.
Oh, that beautiful day.
I fold it in half,
run my finger down the crease,
unfold it, rotate it ninety degrees
and fold it in half again.
In six more steps,
I’ve folded it neatly into a boat.
Someday, perhaps,
I will float it down the river.
Today, I tuck it
into my mind’s back pocket.
When I need to, I touch it,
run my fingers along the folds.
It carries me along
the current.
Remembering
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, joy, mother, river, rock, the thing itself on September 12, 2022| 7 Comments »
for Finn (9/11/04-8/14/21)
I threw rocks in the river today.
Not because I thrill to throw rocks,
but because I love to remember
how you thrilled to throw rocks.
How you squealed at the spray
and clapped your hands at the sound
of the quiescent surface being broken.
Your joy was the pure joy of life itself,
life that knows itself through tossing,
through splattering, through squealing,
life that longs to stand on the bank
and throw rock after rock after rock.
Joy was never in the rock itself,
it wasn’t even in the splash,
nor is there joy in the rocks today.
But there is joy in feeling close to you here.
Joy in the memory of you being so alive.
Joy in remembering your smile,
your hands flying up in delight.
Joy, even, in the longing for you.
I throw rock after rock. I remember.