We’ve had several storms pass through here, hurricane remnants. Enhanced by our climate changes, these now can include tornado-watches, a once-fragmented by the mountains novelty that more robust storms have made more common. Storms routinely dump 1-2+ inches in quick deluges, something rare in my childhood that’s also now the norm.
Intrigued by the metallic palette, I plunge my hand into the waters, captivated by the whorl it creates. For an instant I see a world unto itself. It melds into the whole, as surely as we all will. But it was never really separate from the river, so the notion of merging is a falsehood. Can we recognize we too are not separate? That we too are never really apart but rather, just an integrated part of the whole?
The breezes sweep us forward like leaves, bit players that we are. Mostly we act out futile egos in this timeless drama, even as we have the potential to recognize the larger view. Relinquishing control to the elemental forces of gravity, wind, and sunlight, I pass under the canopy of century’s old trees, between boulders worn over thousands of years. Waving my hands within the gentle flowing resistance of this ancient river, I feel connected to mountain springs pouring into creeks far beyond my limited sight. Floating helps me sense the limitless, unseen energies sustaining all beneath our minuscule roles. Without answers to the many pressing questions storming through our time, I try to listen to my heart and take love and beauty as my guides.