I have been swept away in its current for some time. When one becomes a decent enough swimmer, it’s easy to get lost in her motion. When you flow with the current and find ease in creation, it’s as beautiful as life can be. Still dangerous, mind you. You must stay within yourself and watch for errant branches. But it’s simple. You learn to coast faster and faster, becoming one with the water itself. The trick is being able to notice if you’re drowning.
One day there might be a fork in the river. You make your choice and continue to flow. Depending on that choice, you might find calmer or rougher waters. Both are useful, both provide life and intrigue. While fear might naturally enter the mind, it could also be the furthest thing away. Whether through bravery, ignorance, or both, your speed and spirit do not cease.
Something fascinating is that because one is aware of the fear but not afraid, you might not even realize that it could have already found you in your flow. Little did you know that you are no longer the one dictating your speed, but that the water itself has calmly recollected control. What had been blissful euphoria, with the water encouraging swiftness, is now a mess of limbs in whitewater.
Keep those ten toes up.
You can try to stabilize yourself, but that won’t be a maneuver without considerable strain. The flow that granted a new freedom now fights against your arms. Your legs dangle, maybe scraping the false hope that is the slippery, rocky bed of the river. You need breath, you need peace.
You can try to go back, but that’s upstream. But you would need to right yourself before doing so, at the minimum. What’s more is you most likely need rest, the bliss of creation not allowing you to feel the fatigue in your muscles. Getting to shore is difficult still and might even seem as some sort of defeat.
A break will only delay progress. We know whose voice that is; let’s ignore it if we can.
I have walked up the bank; I have walked down the other end. Looking for a new inlet to the flow can feel frustrating. Every inch of water rushes as intensely as the other. What used to symbolize freedom now looks like a step towards death. That is prison, though it need not be an eternal one. But how many people are stuck on that bank? Some never get back in the water. Some stick to dry land, others build a home near as to never forget. But more often than not, they will mourn that release of the river. The strength gained from fighting the current, or the release of letting yourself go to see where it carries you.
Some are destined for that flow, despite how the world molds us. We will never cease to change, but neither does that river. The most beautiful thing is she will keep flowing, and every day brings us fresh water to try again.
