The
bare branches have scribbled lines against the light blue of the endless sky
and I desire to trace them against the transparency of my large window. The
sleepy puppy rests his dozing head against the gold trim of an ancient book
like a sage filled with wisdom. The sweet scented blueberry candle jar, beside
the blooming cream colored roses, casts its soft shine upon a handful of sea-
shells that are scattered against the coffee table. The future has sprouted well in advance of
its time though I pretend to wake up to it by turning a page in the calendar.
If
by drawing of cards, peering through crystal ball or the age- old temptation of
deciphering numbers, I could predict the future, then perhaps I would caution
my heart of its endless temptation! But since I have been awake to the trending
waters upon and within which I flow, I can safely make some presumptions!
Upstream
and far back in the hidden mountains where the river birthed lives a little
girl filled with dreams of brave hearted warriors with whom she has chosen to
change the world. A bit further down but not too far, lives a young woman
unsure of the expectations her mind imposes upon her restless heart. Midstream is
where I presently live with far more patience I’m holding the hand of the
little girl and calming the young woman within. Perhaps further down, if you
can see, you might find the place where the old woman meets the sea.
Its
benevolent this river to those who bear faith in its path, to trust that it
will bring the courage to meet the sorrows that will surely flow past. It
satisfies your thirst however deep, however small, but pleads that you drink
with an open palm. It warns you this river to enjoy your own unique ride because
if too focused you are on others you might simply miss each and every wonderful
sight. It speaks to you too, this river! It tells you gently yet persistently,
to live in your questions until you find the answers down the stream.
The
question!
This
question was not unique; the little girl upstream whispered it to the young
woman who repeated it to me. So I asked again and more gently this time, what
is it that I own and what is it that is his? Floating afloat in full faith upon
his chosen path, do I have anything I own or was it his to the very last?
The
generous river spoke back in a voice that echoed back to the mountains and far
ahead into the deep sea, “The process is all that you own, never to be taken
from you, or asked to be given back!”
So
Mid- stream is where I learn to relax! Since I desire for the process to be
rich, I pay attention to the feel of the puppy’s tender coat, I inhale slowly
the delicate fragrance of the blue berry candle, I thrive in the unfolding petals
of the cream colored rose, I relish the taste of the wine that touches my lips,
I revel in the joys of my heart that I feel to my fill! As to the cautions I
hear, which sometimes stir in me a bit of fear I whisper the wisdom I learnt
from the river flowing into the sea.