Rivers

Rivers

I’ve been in therapy for years.

I take an antidepressant.

I’m addicted to soft drinks and true crime.

I am looking for rivers.

I have a gym membership I use

-sometimes.

I try to eat right and fit in my jeans.

I floss when I have the energy.

Like I said,

I’m busy looking for rivers.

All my life,

I’ve clumsily searched for water,

the kind that morphs into oceans.

I’ve followed the trickles and streams

that catch the flickering light.

I think I believed in rivers

before I knew what rivers were.

It wasn’t until I sat in my old tweed lounger

at the solid age of forty,

eyes soft and closed,

that I caught the irony of it all:

There is already a River

flowing beneath my skin.

The hand that formed Tigris and Euphrates

sends a pulse through my veins.

It flows in the blood,

in the cells,

and in the microscopic threads

that weave a life together.

Immersed in this knowledge,

in this awareness of internal waters,

a quiet comfort descends.

This skin and these bones

contain a storehouse greater than the Nile.

I simply need to listen

for the River within.

Like a house whose boards

are accustomed

to the notion of being a house,

I gradually learn to become a home.

Rocking in the old tweed lounger,

I notice how my muscles relax,

how my lungs expand,

and a wave of peace rushes in.

Peace followed by joy-

Unexplainable, glorious joy.

I guess Miracles aren’t antiquated

after all.

The more I accept this flawed vessel,

the more I begin to settle.

The better I can navigate rivers.

There is such discomfort in being human.

It is a rocky,

rugged terrain,

laden with switchbacks and cliffs,

steep inclines and blocked paths.

And yet, if I keep climbing,

keep crawling,

keep believing…

When I slip under the well-worn sheets

of my mortality

I come to Rest.

As I embrace this convoluted existence,

I become part of the common stream.

I exist in the shared waters

of brothers and sisters.

My growing comfort in body and soul

opens portals For All.

For We, the descendants of Eden.

Portals of Friendship.

Portals of Love,

of giving and receiving light.

River people thrive

when each one comes to terms

with their own thorny roses-

Roses that stem from rooted Grace.

Like a dog glued to its gnarled bone,

the storms of living persist.

And yet, it would not be a human story

if adversity was absent.

Rivers are unpredictable.

This is why we both love and hate them.

As I ease into the belly

of this mortal vessel,

this old house continues to settle,

And I might finally sleep.

Tonight, in the midst of darkness,

I will dream of the River.

I might even swim in it.