Rivers (A Haunting)

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.” – Norman Maclean

“Whereas we find ourselves at this dreadful yet wonderful place. Betwixt by resolve and torment. Haunted as it were, on the banks of the river of our own soul, asking which way does the river flow”? – DS

There is a flood of many waters inside of you that goes to waste, said a voice, that voice without a face. But the voice inside was something that I knew no one could fake, the one that held the storm, the storm I could not erase!

I hear the hymn in the morning time, with the Colorado sky stretching dark and wide, With the first son of morning comes a star shooting high, the chant sings a song about my rivers inside. So many empty verses, so I just cry and cry. For just these many years I have been kind of quiet, Not saying much to anyone about the water inside. That muddy moving liquid that moves from side to side. Bringing me a challenge to move across its troubled tide. Its just analogy for life that moves outside, Rivers needing crossing when the need does arise. One-way bridges under cloudy skies, and the keeper of the through-way has a storm in his eye, yes, the keeper of the through-way has a storm in his eye.

I think my souls waiting on a singular side, inside or outside me, it wants to cross to another side. From what I have come to know, or from where I have tried, I think it wants to know what it’s like to finally die. For some this might dishearten or become a frightening sight, I sure somewhere somebody thinks my G_D it’s suicide. But flesh and bone are different from what I’m about to describe, you see I want to finally meet my genesis on the river that is inside. A mean that is not average an inner fire that will not subside.

So, I move to pray, crossing that one-way bridge of yesterday, moving from ghost to ghost from a child unto a man, crossing inner Jordan jumping over quick sand. A space that grows in grace. Myself a younger man. An inner sort of question that ask to see his face, and there I see not much to my surprise. One-way bridges under cloudy skies, and the keeper of the through-way has a storm in his eye. Yes, the keeper of the through-way has a storm in his eye.

The river running in me has a hum and a grind, sometimes it seems to clean me, at other times I feel its grime, But now in this place, at this place in my life, pour on me with your mighty water, let my soul consumed, be refined, on this place, where nothing can ever go to waste. Where nothing can ever go to waste.

There is a flood of many waters inside of you that goes to waste, said a voice, that voice without a face. But the voice inside was something that I knew no one could fake, the one that held the storm, the storm I could not erase! – 09.04.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל