Truthfully, I can see what they meant as I get older.
It is easy to see our lives as a river flowing on. You cannot look at all of
our lives flowing through one river of time. We are not a discarded beer bottle
bobbing down the stream to eventually be sunk or smashed against the rocks.
That would be ridicules to think. That would place us all on the same path.
Besides, who would drink all of the beer to toss our empties in?
I see each of us as our river. Each of us start out as
a small stream, or spring. As we grow from a baby to a child, our stream
deepens and widens from the knowledge and experiences we gain. Others will
spill their water into our streams as they affect our lives and growth. The
soothing rain, drought, and raging storms of childhood will shape us, feed us,
ad turn us into the river we will become. Some will roar and rage filled with
rapids. Other rivers will flow gently and slowly; never seeming to churn or
cause turmoil. Most are a mixture of both. There are times when our lives are
filled with rapids and jagged rocks. Then, there are times when we are gentle
and smooth enough for a rotund man to float gently down.
Not all rivers
run the same courses. Some run a fairly straight course trying to race on.
These sweep by at a hurried pace, racing to the final destination. They pick
bits of small debris carrying them here and dropping them there. Occasionally
they overflow their banks depositing little mounds of waste and enriched soil;
giving life and pain to those that live on the shores.
Some rivers meander about, trying to find a good path
to travel. They bend and twist. Many they even loop back upon themselves. They
seem to loose themselves trying to find that one right path. The land around
them always seems marsh and damp. Despite the desperation of these bodies, they
feed and nourish an abundance of life. The wandering waters are not lost, just
taking a longer path to the end.
A third type is the one that rushes violent forward.
It sweeps mightily onward flinging debris from its path. Its’ rushing waters
reform the rocks and the river banks. It creates its own path when it is
needed. This force of nature cannot be tamed easily. The river roars laughter
as it travels quickly on. The river throws spray into the faces of those that
dare to creep too close. The spray says “Ha! I run free. You cannot touch me.”
All rivers try to run their course according to their
natures. Each trying to join some greater body in the end. None travel the same
course their full length. There is a little of each type in everyone.
Sometimes, we are a force of nature to be reckoned with. Some days we are
gentle and slowly traveling along. Other times, we meander and seem lost on our
course. There are even those that are so lost they become cut off from
themselves. These people become a dark murky pool filled with slime and
tadpoles. Life is a journey. There is beauty in the traveling of it. If we are
lucky, a part of us will evaporate and turn to rain. I still want to rain down
on a few people when they are trying to barbeque.
