There was an old woman from Phnom Penh who liked to canoe now and again, but boating Tonlé Sap -- despite compass and map -- she'd forget which way it flowed, now-and-then.
[Note: The Tonlé Sap is one of the few rivers in the world that changes its flow each year due to the rainy season surge. (As opposed to owing to daily tidal surges — which are more common.)]
The burbling sounds did clarify my mind. Somehow, the flowing stream was one with me, and sitting down just at the riverbend, I felt more flowing rhythm than I could see. Some part of me was whisked in search of sea, though my body sat at the muddy edge. I know not how a part of me could flee -- just pure potential, being on a ledge. I lost the river like one loses blood. It's there, but [unseen] becomes all and none. Each is swept along swiftly by a scud, but seem so still when you and it are one. The mystic moment comes then flits away, and I am left with nothing fine to say.
Taken in June of 2017 on the Zambezi River between Zambia and Zimbabwe.
I washed up on the same shore from
which I had tried to swim.
I breathed so hard, but couldn’t recoup
a face that wasn’t grim.
The currents toyed with me, but then
spit me back on the shore
just down the river from that place
I’d been moments before.
With Einsteinian insanity,
I tried again-and-again.
For every river must change its
ways, every now and then.
to sit beside a river
is to be Still
amid a moving world
a sweet break
from being that which moves
through the world
I walked beside that gray river;
fog blurred the trees of the far bank.
The grass and ground were wetted down
as if the clouds had crashed that night
and slathered moisture on the world
as a damp mop dragged over might.
It’s cold and wet and as subdued
as a painting in shades of gray.
Have you seen the world look painted —
as if it were more art than real?
Then you may know what I walked through —
its look rang false, but – oh – that feel.
It felt like every nerve burned bright
despite that dim, mid-winter scene.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 