Gifts from the River

lyrical and twisting

I only understood the metaphorical power of rivers in religious analogies until I moved alongside Clear Creek.

Buddhism, Yoga, and their kin encourage us to resist fighting the power of the analogous river of life, to move with the ebbs and ride the flows. To recognize the consistency of force required to smooth and polish stones over timespans longer than humans can rightly comprehend. Christianity has some honorable river mentions - the power of God’s love, the trickle of faith that gains momentum with practice, and the initiating practice of a dunk that allows for spiritual rebirth.

In 2018 I met a guy who lived by a river called ‘Clear’ Creek whose water is crystal like only during double-red flag days when no humans are permitted. Most other days the sins that wash downstream towards Coors… are enough to give the most passionate consumer pause. Days after our late-August meeting I wandered into the dredges of the Target swimwear clearance section and surfaced with bottoms that would do and a mediocre sports bra. While I’ve had the same bikini since 1998 - a miracle of size-adaptable triangles, remarkably conscientious and systematic packing, and luck, I knew enough about rivers at the time to appreciate that wild water and gravity have a particular hunger for ancient elastic.

Emboldened by the strength collected after a summer of running and loads of yoga practice, and afraid my new suitor would see me as weak if I didn’t, I jumped in and participated, freezing my absolute tail off. I bobbed and thrashed, and required the sort of assistance you might rightly call rescue if your ego is not involved.

The current, even eight weeks after the peak water speed was no match for my feeble former lifeguard skills. Even though my mother taught me to swim before I learned to crawl, and I’ve always been strong in pools, wild water takes you where it wants you to go, regardless of whether or not you choose to surrender.

The practice of being in the river is an agreement. I am insignificant. Humble. It is but for the grace of god that I am not distributed equally among myriad cisterns of beer. Exiting the creek I do have the sense that I am reborn, emerging with the responsibility to make something of the life that has not been taken from me by elemental force.