Old River

 Old River 

There is a place, a glorious place, brilliantly blooming with life in my mind. A place that came to be over many years of viewing all its amazements in thousands of steps among all its essence, within hundreds of elements gleaming around me in the millions of miracles my eyes have seen. A place not far from here, a place well kept from others, impossible to find with the naked eye. For it is unlike any other place, always creating itself as I need it to be for my imagination to thrive and live free in the ever waking light that rises like a new morning sun. There in this place, there is a shallow river that winds through many woodlands opening into fields where the many strands of long grasses tickle my hands as I walk through them in meadows of budded wildflowers on long stretched stems among carpets of clovers, throw rugs of daisies mingled with dandelions among small spreads of chickweed. The river itself always babbling its presence over large round smooth stones where river beds of pebbles are gurgling its living song in serenading verses to all it surrounds as it nurtures their existence decorating old river's life. While the old river recognizes the beauty they create, never envious of their blooming, always aware of bird, bug and bee imbibing its nourishment, washing their feet clean from pollinating the meadows, working harmoniously together in creation with itself. As various birds of colorful feather swoosh playfully above the grasses watching over nests in trees where their young peeping babes wait for a time when feed is brought to the eave of twigs nest for hungry mouths to receive its meal retrieved by dutiful parents mindful always of their offsprings needs. As springing grasshoppers leap beneath limbs of golden rods and milkweed stems, thick, thorny, thistle leaves, where the caterpillar quietly sleeps beneath the shadow of parent butterflies catching wind with powdered wings silently dusting petals of wild asters amidst bumbling bees meticulously bobbling along their way from pollen bloom to petal too, nibbling its gatherings for home well hidden as to protect itself and young from anxious enemies.

Then, for just a moment, all of my thinking is displaced in a moment of stillness where all of the could be problems, all of the would be worthless worries disappear into a quiet place where for that brief moment all is calm, all is right, my mind is satisfied, my strength replenished. Not by word or deed save only the moment of recognizing this glorious place as it exists.

I have no need of stimulants here. I have no need of suppression. For every vision expresses its own uniqueness in solidarity with the whole as I release the dimensional visage of everything around me to meander through these moments that open before me accepting me into its presence unafraid of my being there, undaunted by my exploration. How minuet these moments are that leave such gigantic impressions of a far away reality in my being that absorbs the industrialized world around me and casts it out of its own sky. How profound those moments when in this place, this glorious place, I am never offered dissent of my own liking or made to accept anything that's not welcomed. How magnanimous this place evolves between the whether to's and the why not's where my natural mind lingers on the threshold of what I will view here, as I pick a stem of long grass with my hand while strolling near old river's waters shredding the grass seeds with my fingers as I walk, letting them fall where they may along the soft rich silt near waters edge as to offer them new life and their chance to become all their own a self sufficient part of the overall requiem immersing me into its glorious splendors. Where I, in a day, have no physical vision to linger upon such as this while I tend to my everyday life full of required presets.

No wonder I find such ease here. Where there is no need to lift my hand for anything except to sense the softness of a flower's petal delicately tracing its supple nature with fingertip. No wonder all of nature is alive here. Where the desolation of its existence is quietly kept stayed far away from its life brimming with newness intact as a whole organism supported by all of its sums, multiples and factors. No wonder all of the wondrous visions seen here are free to visit as they will. Decorating tree trunks with various shades of wrapped barks some trailing in long lines, others wrapped in sleeves of thin porous fiber covering branches both long and small providing stems here and there for tender young leaves or sprouting needles in varying lengths to spring forward into place in groups of their own to protect stem, limb and trunk from withering wilt lest dry days of immaculate sunlight become too harsh for their survival.

There in this place there is no need of weary or fear or their unfounded liaisons. No harsh attitude bittering the water of old river's existence. No irrational divining of what should or shouldn't belong and ever grateful for the multi faceted living of every organism peacefully abiding in this place where life continues to bring birth in all its varieties of liveliness, giving every moment its fair place in the light ever shining in all of its glory through both day and night. Whether by morning sun's waking approach in pastels or reflective moon's silver still faithfulness, twinkling star's dedication or lighting bug's unmatched dutifulness among the dew drenched dark greens of sun's sleep and it is there in this place where I find my own strength renewed, fed from the succor of natures well kept beings always offering me a safe place in gentleness as it exists flowing with old river's life giving stream while it washes away tainted sediments purifying this place where only I and old river can understand what it is to need here, what it is for us to be here and what it is that we both crave to see.

Jade Jaspers