The river!

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.