The river told me its story

Stories begin,
By looking at rivers,
after meditating,
and seeing your life
flash before your eyes
Shifting, undulating atoms
like the mental movie that
crosses my mind, clear
but diverse in its movement
never caught on anything
today, at least.

Bathing in warm rays of
contentment filtered down
through leaves
I guess that view of one’s
ever changing life can be
seen before you die
in the cyclical nature of life
in all the whitewater ripples that
drown out the white noise mind
and crystal swirling pools
reflect the infinite possibilities of
all that we are and all we ever will be

There is both endless complexity
and simplicity in the cosmos
the way water negotiates
stones, we would call
obstacles, seemingly made
only more beautiful by
the ripples, as bubbles
of joy spring from the deep
just after plunging between
narrow stepping stones, Oh!
those things called obstacles, I
remember now, as if the
things that seem in the way
are not part of the experience
in the journey that we take

I’ve felt the beauty and tragedy
of flood, overcome by love
or drowning in painful fantasies
Water, such a beautiful element,
we can choose to swim
or lie on our backs and let
the current take us,
put our bellies and eyes
face up to the sky,
surrender to the sound of
the river.

I watched water shake itself
through new forms, each moment
so gentle, yet it can dance new
stories, revealing new geology
in the layers of the land.

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