the river i see

it seems strange to me. the way we become reflections of life. we are born who we are. natural beings. but as life goes so we become. like clay washed away by the river. i look back at myself in pictures from 10 years ago and i see how i fought to conform to the shape of what i saw as desirable. and then i look at pictures of my nephew now seven, then 3, and i see that he was always who he is even as a little glob of a new being. i remember. and then i see the 20-somethings in and without my family. i see their dissonance. i feel them struggle to make sense of the nature of this experience and i see clearly how it affects us. we become reflections, albeit warped as we keep some of our original shape. and here i sit all these years later coming back to where i started realizing that i am not one with this river. so i sit perched on top a rock and i observe.

this river is wrong...

but i am right! and so i sing to the river my song, written of the One we seek. from which everything that flows goes.

blessed is the light of the ones who see. blessed is the soul of the human being who refuses to be anything other than what he was born to be.

feels good to be free.