Rivers

 It wasn't that long ago that I was searching for a new metaphor.  One of my best friends wrote a book and in the first few lines the book asked, "they never taught us that metaphors are magic did they?"  So I wanted a new metaphor. 

You're sitting by a river, meditating, observing.  Some rivers flow free and some crash dramatically into logs and stones and pieces of broken highway left to slow the passing water.  Some rivers are almost still, they are shallow and you can see the colorful stones painting the bottoms of their aquatic dwelling.  Some rivers lead into many faraway unknown destinations while some rivers fall down to places below.  I'm at my river, dear diary, and I have come to know this body of water very well.  I know the way it flows and sometimes I'm certain that nobody knows better what this river needs than myself.  I was here first.  These things should have all been true but somehow my river was beginning to clog itself.  

What is the great metaphor?  I believe that our rivers are full of beautiful things: friends and family, acquaintances, branches and stones as well as many troubling things: doubt, fear, uncertainty, sharp pointy pieces of glass, litter.  I'm beginning to see my river in my meditations, those I'm able to find time for in this new chapter in my life about being a parent.  The ability to reflect is a luxury.  Again, you need still water in order to reflect, do you not?  

So I took to my river and began to rearrange the beautiful stones and branches as well began to clean up the litter.  It looked nice from my grassy riverbank.  It's not done, in fact some branches are being stubborn and snagging leaves and seaweed.  Every now and then I slice my toe on a broken bottle.   It's working though, I'm beginning to feel my flow.