Stream of Unending Flow
I sometimes bushwhack my way through life. Dark woods, entangling vines, heavy boots. No way forward. Everything feels hard and takes extra effort.
It’s exhausting.
And yet, right next to the pathless forest — just there — is a stream of unending flow.
Sometimes I can hear the water. A burbling, murmuring, cascading stream.
Often, I don’t even notice. There is a seductive quality to bushwhacking. Head down, working hard, on my own. It’s up to me.
The stream is not without hazards: rapids to run, sharp turns to negotiate. Surrendering to flow isn’t passive. Courage, attention, and wakeful trust are required. But the stream moves inexorably towards the open ocean.
We are not here to take care of every task, make everyone happy, be perfect. We are here to remember who we are.
Open your ears. Feel the spray.
And still, pressed deep into my mind, the river
keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its
long journey, its pale, infallible voice
singing.
—Mary Oliver