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
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.
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
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.

February 11, 1934 - March 5, 2001

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