A River Soliloquy

I sit by the riverbank watching the river flow. It has a tempo of its own, it flows to the rhythm of nature, the beat of the earth and slowly I relax to match its tempo. My breathing slows down, my body loses its rigidly-held tensions and it feels as though the weight of my burdens fall off and flow away with the waters.

There are fallen logs rotting in the water on the edge, green with moss and coming apart slowly. Looking at them I realize how things come full circle, the cycle of life and death as things return unresistingly to the source. How different is man, how we cling to this transitory life, this false permanence.

Sometimes ducks come out to feed, foraging in the shallow waters. Also black swans, gliding like black clouds over the blue surface, their gait unhurried, their necks graceful. A duck with ducklings joins in sometimes, the babies, balls of fluff frantically following their mother around. Love wells up inside me, and breaking the barriers of my heart it flows towards the little family, embracing them in protection. But occasionally, the duckling number dwindles and I guess the mother learns to let go without attachment.

The river is mostly flowing, the current creating a dancing, rippling surface and a quiet music, but after a heavy rain, the river is muddy and full-bodied and rushing towards the sea. But even in the speed there is calmness beneath. And on some days, the waters are totally unmoving, or seems to be. Then the surface is like a glass lake. The trees on the banks peer at their own reflection even as I do, white clouds glide on the still surface and birds flap their wings and swoop without creating even a ripple. Things are not as they seem, the river seems to say. Be aware of the illusion of things.