I Am Water

I am standing in an all black room, looking at my feet. There is just a hint of light on the floor, and a sparkle of gold. Two ripples of water envelope my feet, moving on into the darkness. I realize that my teacher is here, also all in black. She says, "Physical reality is just a reflection of ultimate reality. And like any reflection, it is distorted." Now the picture at my feet becomes the physical world, and the ripples continue to spread, causing distortion as they move. I look at my teacher and White walks in from the darkness, from the beautiful black void where all new things come from. She comes to stand beside Teacher, and now we are 3. Black, Blue, White, and 1 missing.

Growing

I am a Cherokee Elder, newly minted. I stand all of 6" tall between the ancient cottonwoods that nurture me. I take a step, fall down, try and run away, fall again and come back home. I have driven to Bismarck twice this summer trying to get to Washington State. Or trying to run away; take your pick. Either way works. My life is in four pieces, four directions of grief. Lost family, love failing, love unknown, two teachers. As I turn through the quarters of my day, picking my way through the shards of emotional pain and grief that pierce me, I try to remember to watch the bees, to feed the animals, to marvel at the woodpeckers and bumblers and chipmunks. I scheme ways to awaken my neighbors to ways to improve my beloved creek, to stop their fertilizing and their automatic sprinklers in a summer so wet everything has mold growing on it. Some nights I have 5 pair of shoes drying on the back rail from my day's tromp of 4 or 5 miles to lake and creek and nighttime walk with the dog. And most days at the moment I wonder if any of this was worth it, if my new understanding of truth is equal to the pain I have caused and endured. I am afraid of the answer. I have become afraid of life.