The Pond

I have a dream…

There is a forest, planted long ago. There life has flourished, and nestled in the soft, plush meadows amidst the beautiful songs that echo through the Universe, springs a pond. A pond so beautiful that words cannot give her justice. You simply need to experience her to understand.

The pond is graced by a waterfall that feeds her indescribability. One can hear the roar of power in the rush of water pouring into her. She is connected to something there in the falls, and I can see a multitude of rainbows dancing about within its mist, and there are always a variety of butterflies playing dangerously close. They seem to know how close they can get without being swept away forever. They may touch the edge, but will not survive the power of this flow. They know, so they only touch her surface, and she is saddened that such beauty will not bathe within her, but she also knows that such beauty must survive to be appreciated.

I look at the beautiful scene in front of me, overwhelmed by its magnificence, but drawn in by her essence. It’s clear to me that the pond is certainly the waterfall, and the waterfall is certainly the pond. Neither can exist as they are without the other. We, those who experience such a place, can appreciate it because we’ve also nearly died in the desert. Our paths are littered with the skeletons of those who were not strong enough to make it, their fortunes left to the harshness of totality. The fortunate ones arrive here to marvel, to bend their knee to drink, and to bathe in her beauty.

I take her in, and want to be taken in by her. I want to swirl in the clear, cool waters and swim to where the falls meet her surface. I want to dive down into her and feel the chaos there, at a depth of some discomfort. I want to be tossed around a bit, have my soul thrashed until I understand her better, and then make my way back to the places where she finds her serenity. I will find nature there, that certain place where she gives to the Universe, and the Universe gives right back.

To a man who has not felt such serenity, the feeling cascades over me like the touch of her essence. My mind drifts off to what may happen if I never leave, and she accepts me as I am. Yet, I know that my skin may wrinkle and my body soften in the safe non-resistance of her, and I pray the shore may be enough to save me.  I need to feel the dirt and the stones, the sting of bees looking for food, and the fear of sleeping alone in a forest so full of danger.

Danger. He laughs at it. What could happen to him that hasn’t happened already? There  is no death that he fears, there is the lack of living that scares him. A renewed vow wells up inside him. He will live fully until he dies, and he will smile at the wounds, regardless if they came from the ass of a bee, or the claws of a bear.

The laughter mixes with the sound of the water embracing him. He’ll stay here for a little while, and then he will enjoy the shore until, finally, he ventures off to seek the living he so desires. She will always be here, and he wonders if one day he will call her home.