God runs
through me like a river
Which, not counting time, flows
In the
absence of direction;
It floods
the landscape of my being
And speaks
to my aggrieved soul.
It has no
boundaries, this river.
And has not
only course to run.
Hard runs
this river with its high banks;
It runs
beyond and often swells and spills
Above the
land.
That land
which holds me close
And does not
ever give
Unless moved
to do so.
The land is
my strength and my lostness:
It forever
drives me.
But not to
the river.
For it fears
the river.
Only in
those quiet moments
Do I know
the river as a friend.
Only in the
space
Between
The lines of
my life
Do I
understand the river
And its
flow.
For most my
time is away from it
And I cannot
remember its watery sound.
Its healing
flow.
Its grace.
But then
again it comes.
This flow of
movement.
Of energy
between the space
Of me.
Of man.
Of anyone
and everyone –
For we are
all space and river
And nothing
else.
Nothing
else.
We cannot
leave the river.
Ever.
But we can
let the river take us
And never
flee from its course.
That we can
do.
That we must
do.
For it is
written in the water
That we must
follow its course.
Over the
rocks and rapids
Roils the
ancient course
That we must
follow.
I will
follow the river.
Will embrace
its flow
And know its
high banks
As you
should know
Its flow and
banks.
How will you
stand this river?
You will
stand it knee deep
In the
waters of your
Consciousness
And that
will bring you
To the
watershed.
At the
watershed you will find
The space in
every man
And in yourself.
And in that
space you will feel
The
universe:
And it will
be whole and satisfying.
But only if
you grasp the river.
Its wetness
and its rhythm.
Its coldness
and its warmth.
