Pretend You're A River

It was such an amazingly lovely Autumn day, that I debated going to my class today. Yeah, I wanted to learn more about knitting, but the whole "sitting inside" thing tore at me. In the end, I went, and I was glad. I learned something new, sat in a circle with women (no one could have anticipated), and then had the joy of coming home along the Western side of the beautiful Potomac River. I love that river. It blesses my life every single day.

Pretend you're a river
Pretend you are the mist who falls so fine, so gentle, that nothing separates water and air
You are the rain who falls in sheets, explodes onto the ground to leave pocks and puddles
You are the ground who receives this water, soaking it up, taking it in, carrying it deep inside
You are the cracks and fissures where the waters accumulate, flow, fall to join more water and more
in pools and rivers who move slowly through cavities, crevices, pores
You are the sounds and silence of water seeping or staying still
You are the meeting of wet and dry, the union of liquid and solid, where solids dissolve and liquids solidify
You are the pressure who pushes water through seams
You are the rushing water who bubbles from the earth
You are a tiny pool between rocks
You overflow, find your way to join others who, like you, are moving, moving
You are the air at the surface of the water
the joining of substantial and insubstantial
the union of under and over, weight and not weight
You are the riffle, the rapid, the tiny waterfall who turns water to air and air to water
You are the mist who settles on the soil
You are the plants who drink the mist, and you are the sun who warms and feeds them
You are the fish who feed on insects, who feed on plants, who feed on soil, who feed on fish
You are the fish who become soil, who become plants, who become insects, who become fish, who flow down the river
You are the river who joins other rivers to become a new river, who is all the rivers, and something else
You are the river
You do not stop at the banks where liquid turns to solid
You reach into the sky, and into the soil
Water moves through rocks, comes up to form pools far from the fast flow where the rivers move together
seeps down to join still waters beneath the surface
waters who sleep and wake and sleep, and mingle with the stones who are the river too
You are the river who is married to the mountains you have known since they were young
who have given themselves to you, as you have given yourself to them
You are the canyons you nestle into, each year deeper than the year before
You are the forests who give you their fallen trees
the meadows you flood and feed
and they feed you back their fruits and fine insects
who fly to your surface to be taken in by the fish
who again with their owns bodies feed the meadows
You are the river who feeds the ocean
who feels the tides pushing and pulling against your mouth
the waves mixing fresh and salt
you are that intermingling, that is who you are
that is who you have always been
You are the river
You have lived with volcanoes and glaciers
You have been dammed by lava and ice
You've carried log jams so large and so old that they grow their own forests, with you running beneath
You have lived through droughts and floods
You are the river
You miss the salmon, you miss the sturgeon, you miss the ocean
you miss the meadows, you miss the forests, you miss the beavers, and otters and bears
you miss the humans
You are the river, you want them back
You want to feel the tickling of the sturgeon and the thrusting of the Salmon
You want to carry food and soil to the ocean
You want to cover the meadows as you used to
and you want to give yourself to them
and you want them to give themselves to you
as you have done forever and as they have too

Now, pretend you are a forest
You are the bark of trees and the hairy moss who hangs from them
You are the duff, who becomes soil, who becomes trees, who becomes seeds, who becomes squirrels, who become owls who become slugs, who become shrews, who become soil
You are the trees who cannot live without the fungi, who cannot live without the voles, who cannot live without the trees
You are the fire, who cannot live without the trees, who cannot live without the woodpeckers, who cannot live without the beetles, who cannot live without the fire
You are the wind who speaks through the trees, and the trees who speak through the wind
You are the birds who sing, and the birds who do not
You are the salamanders, the ferns, the millipedes
the bumble bees who sleep on flowers, waiting for the morning to warm you so you can eat and fly on home
You to have lived through drought and flood, hot and cold
and you too miss the salmon
you miss the owls, the bears
you miss the rivers
you miss the people, the humans
you want them all back
you need them back
or you will die

-Derrick Jensen.