We are different boats on interweaving channels making our way to the same place.

I dream a river, snaking and winding,
a network of electrical impulses, synapses,
and the place where they all merge into oneness.

Inside of me, inside of all of us,
the void, the cosmos, Great Spirit,
to which all things return.

We find our way on these small vessels,
riding the currents, moving slow and then fast,
tall grass obstructing our view,
crouched inside, exposed to the rain,
which becomes again part of the river that pulls us.

We have oars, they give us something to do,
to choose which side of the river we float through,
to go a little faster, or a little slower,
to stay afloat in the rapids or go under.

Our oars are choices,
our boats our bodies,
the river our path,
the ocean the Great Mother,
the rain, the rapids, life.

We can leave our boats for short periods of time,
to swim in the water, in a calm pool by choice
or a moment of upheaval.

We feel the place we are going when we are submerged in bare skin,
but to move forward any distance we have to get back in.

We get stuck in mud and grass,
we veer off into a still pool, we listen,
we get dumped, we get back in,
we float on our backs, we look at the sky
We feel the sun, we close our eyes.

We try to predict what’s coming
And we miss the river lining,
The banks of wild flowers
the color of water,
the fish glimmering silver
the birds chiming sweetly.

Deeply present we feel the pulse,
the heartbeat, the rhythm,
the same as our blood and our breath,
the river a great vein in this body of oneness,
that leads us back to the great heart.