I drift, I dream

 

IT’S hard to say where I begin in terms of time.

Some even use me as a way to understand how living flows away and yet will always be.

I am at once my source and my conclusion. My essence stretches out complete.

No part of me is seen to be more valid, or more recent, than another.

I draw myself together from beneath and all around, my substance rising up from living earth.

I bubble and I chatter as I start out on a journey which itself defines my form.

No sooner have I begun, than I have finished. No sooner have I finished, than I have begun.

There is a finishing in my beginning and a beginning in my finishing.

And all the rest in between gives the impression of permanence, but can never remain the same, even for a second.

I trade my primal purity for a growing sense of weight and force, as I absorb the teachings of the times through which I live.

Streams of consciounsess swell my understanding as I allow myself to become the offspring of the place where I belong.

The fluids surge within and I barely can contain my own strength. You’d think twice before crossing me.

Muddied now, broadminded and more calm, I still retain that freshness at my core, feeding into me from a higher level.

I open up under the sky so vast and lie drifting on in perfect rest and motion without cease.

I feel the tingling of my utmost points in vales and hills remote.

I sense the lives within me, separate and yet not, our purposes entwined within the whole.

I lap it up, the deepest dream of being what I know I was and am.

The rain falls into me, turns into me, as I will turn one day to rain.

And as I reach my greatest point, my destiny fulfilled, I am absorbed into the sea of all.

Winds blow, clouds form – the stuff of life has rearranged.

And here I am again, where once I did awake.

I never lived. I never died. I simply am. A river.