My car is barely moving now somehow it knows I should stop. So I gently put the brakes on. I get out, walking diligently through the newly fallen snow, past the slush of melting ice and puddles of water, a mixture my feet do not appreciate. My feet, now cold and wet from the unpleasant ingredients of winter’s wrath, must move forward. Somehow I know I must persist despite the conditions of the day. I find myself standing at the edge of a snow filled hill, closer to the water that waits below than I should be, but I must stand there. I wonder for a moment or two, will I fall down the hill and into the water? In the quietness of that moment the answer is quite clear…”you’re not here to fall down.” So, I cloak myself with faith, knowing that I must stand at the edge of the silent river to absorb its energy and its strength. I stand there anchored, without reservation or fear, as if my angels are holding me within their grasp.
The silent river beckons me to notice its strength and I recall that I am strong. I see chunks of snow floating past me to some unknown destination. It calls me to stand at its edge encouraging me to surrender to its beauty and its nature. It tells of letting go of those things no longer needed and to release that which no longer supports. The essence of the silent river proclaims its destiny by moving steadfastly. The water moves, sometimes quickly – sometimes slowly, but never ceases to stop…it moves as if some divine vibration is guiding it, just like in life. The river does not know what it will encounter, but it knows it will. I’m reminded to trust the innate knowing of my own destination. To see my life as a beautiful part of the whole river, not separate from the river or not just the riverbank on which I stand. I am reminded that I am not separate from anything, but part of the universal-global-oneness that is in all things.
As I stand there, eyes closed at first, the sound of the trees clashing against each other echoes the sound of some tribal dance. I feel my body swaying with the sound of the wind, almost as if I was the wind, no longer am I separate. For in this moment I have become the river and the wind, all connected and all one. I step into the next moment and gaze deeply into the water, and beyond and into the snow capped trees. Light fades in and out through the only green color visible on this winter day, the pine trees are now within view. I see the faces of those that have nourished from this river, as I am being nourished right now. I imagine the sustenance the water has given to the faces I meet. Maybe, it grew their crops, transported them, or encouraged their inner strength to shine like the river. The river doesn’t know exactly where it must travel, or who it will touch, but knows that it must move forward.
For some incredible reason, I feel such comfort here. As if I have stood at this riverbank before. The sunlight cascades through the trees to reflect my guardian angels and the faces of those whispering spirits deep within the energy of the river. Somehow I see my reflection here, too. The radiance creates a glistening mosaic of light that enthralls me: spirit, soul, mind and body.
I begin to pray. That’s what you do in moments like this. You pray, you chant, you talk to God and communicate with your Spirits, your loved ones and your angels, and here you own your silence, just like the river.
I guess I am like the river: strong, deep, flowing and complete. I can feel the deep strength that lives within me. Sometimes you need to stand by a river, on a crisp, clear, cold day, with wet feet to see who you are. I realize, like the chunks of snow passing by me, that wherever I will travel I will always be part of the river. When the river meets the sea, or the farmer, or the seeker I will be there, too.