Sometimes I wonder.
As I look back over my years and reflect on how clear things once seemed, then view today’s world through humanity’s imposed murkiness, questions invariably arise. What happened? Why? What’s next? What remains? Anything?
I’m reminded of four lines from the book of Job:
And where is now my hope?
As for my hope, who shall see it?
They shall go down to the bars of the pit,
When our rest together is in the dust.
Dismal thoughts, those. Not at all suitable for anyone who cares more for clarity, for beauty, for hope itself than for the murkiness that defines so much of the human condition. There has to be a better way. But what?
Nature? Yes, but where in nature? Most everywhere works, of course. But embedded within ALL of life is that one major necessity: water. And curiously enough, water isn’t stationary like a rock, or a mountain, or a desert. It’s cyclical. Rain and snow lead to streams, to rivers, to the oceans, then to evaporation, to mists, then back to rain and snow, etc. It struck me that a given droplet may well, in fact, be made to serve as the perfect metaphor for ALL of life’s inevitable transits.
Following is my very own — simple — point of view, a means to dismiss our human-imposed murkiness of view and return to those moments of absolute clarity — as seen through the “eyes” of a water droplet.
Droplets — and Destiny?
The river runs always forward,
Fed by rains, rivulets, creeks, and streams above
it has no choice. It cannot reverse its flow
but must pay constant homage
to the sea which waits
For it is the sea which returns life,
renewed each day,
— by rain, by snow —
The waters at the source are fresh
Mountaintops are like that, too.
Trees and flowers drink their fill ‘neath clear or cloudy skies,
then allow all unused droplets to wander
as if to repay all debts owed
As dew drop pays homage to the flower
it surely comes to sense the edge of beauty
and even, perchance, of love.
But finally, left uncaptured, it slowly slides away
to join a rivulet
and waters become muddy and murky.
Still, the droplet persists
and though it carries soils to the sea upon its back
it must know
that while soils sink to the bottom to provide a home for worms,
itself will rise again to fall as rain or snow
perchance upon a mountainside,
and live to once more caress a flower
I know of dew
— and clarity —
for in my youth I nurtured a rose
whose beauty shall evermore remain as if a crystal vision.
But then I joined the rivulet, the creek, and the river of life,
to flow inexorably toward the sea, my destiny,
my homage to be paid.
In my passage,
as the waters about me became muddy,
I came to know I’d left my youth behind.
For in youth there is but clarity,
Now, as destiny directs,
I await my next traverse,
to be carried on warm breath of wind back to the mountaintop
where I shall
— this time —
spot the perfect flower.
And because I have known, through previous passage,
the clarity of beauty, and too, of love,
I shall know to wait
until she opens slightly, and then
I shall fall upon her heart and nurture her,
to be absorbed by her until,
together at last,
we return to dust
and remain forever as one —