River Goddess

I have been reborn by the winter snows

That fell on Kailash, and slowly melt in spring 

And now I know

I’ve found my way 

I have nothing more to say

Except the rivulets of poetry that leak

From abundant rain

I speak them plainly in gurgling brook

For every meadow nook and glen

And sing them soft as lullabies 

To newborn cries of fawn and cub

Again and again they long to hear

The ancient trueness of the RiverSong

My only source 

The subtle integral virtue

Even in my sleep I flow

Dreaming of the destiny

Even in the day I feel

The deep connection to the Milky Way

The galaxy that stirs continuously

Those who long for rest for their soul 

The forgiveness and the eternal peace

Come and lay their heads down on

The gentle hills that slope beside me

They dip, first,their toes, and then,

Feeling the refreshing stream 

That rushes just below the still waters

They bend their knees into

The deeper parts, and then their thighs

And then they sigh, as my cool touch

Expresses the much needed relief

At their umbilical hole, and some 

Even squeal in sheer delight as they go under

And come up reborn in fresh light

And fresh breezes for their previously drooping sails

I’m healed they say

Tho others talk of my demise

She dead, they shake their heads

Gone away 

—-

The River loves the Sun.

The River loves the Shade.

The River Works, 

Just in, what some might uninformededly term,

“A lazy way.”

River flows by places where

Gardens were planned and planted, and

River flows by wild unkempt woodland trails.

She spills over in one low place,

And seeking lower places still,

She trickles through a street in my neighborhood.

She blesses every house as she seeps by.

Particularly, I hear her, at a home

Where an old Jon-boat sits sometime, 

And sometimes it’s gone.

“Bless this Jon Boat,” River croons,

“And the River-Lover who owns it.”

—-

“I like mine watered down,”

She said, quietly, looking extra lovely

In her Aqua evening gown,

And while the ballroom whirled with lights

From a sparkling strobe,

Her mind twinkled, like stars on a River

So long, it wound around the globe,

And she was at the place in that River,

Where the waters fell. They tumbled straight,

Then splashed a silver spray,

Where a rainbow stayed continuously,

Even though the waters of the River

Cascaded down. It was a wonder,

And certain minds could note,

Could marvel at the sacredness 

They felt in the ballroom of The Riverboat

That night.

—-

River always has two ways to go,

If one says no,

One says yes.

There is no guessing,

Doubt or hesitation.

The destination is the same.

The subtle force can play the game.

The subtle force can win or lose,

But River will always choose the best,

The path of least resistance, yet,

Her way is Power, her day respected,

Her night trajectory ever strong.

The Junipers do not expect it, either,

Yet their age is revered, and River

Never asks for anything, least of all Respect,

But River gets it.

—

Old Man is crazy like a fox.

He brings his grapes to the River

To wash them off.

He sits on the bank and eats them slow.

He remembers something his Mother told him,

“Always eat everything with your fingers, Son.

Nothing you have to cut or cook

Will provide your body with

Any nourishment at all.”

He stares into the waters of the brook.

He follows a mystical stream in his mind

To a cosmic place of nothingness,

A most profound peace he experiences there,

Not joyless, but so quietly, mystically rapturous,

That it cannot be disturbed for days.

He will wander back to town,

And others will think that he is drunk

Or stoned, but his heart has been transcended.

His world upended by the subtle flow

Of the unending waters of The Great River of Life.

—-

River has mysterious ways.

She’s mischievous.

She plays over the rocks in the forest glades,

Gurgles her words to them

As she coos,

Smoothing them into River Stones.

She doesn’t own them.

No one does,

But the value they possess when she is through 

Is exponentially more 

Than when some child, or lonely 

Exasperated fisherman threw them in,

Here at the bend, where River slows

To listen to them and the others who come to wish,

Or opine, about the way Father Time

Has mistreated them.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she sighs.

Eventually, we come to realize this.

—-