|Shh! Don't spook him.|
Thoughts are like a river. Dip your hand into them and try and grasp the moment...reach too late and the moment is gone.
Yesterday morning I had a good idea for a blog and thought, "I should write this down." But I was driving in my car. Whatever it was I was thinking was profound. But alas, I lost it somewhere on Southfield Road.
Yesterday afternoon I had another good idea when my son and I saw a buck strolling on a golf course in Huntington Woods (irony) but it too proved as fleeing as the morning's inspiration, more fleeting than the deer contentedly munching on carrots.
I once saw the river of thought, like actually saw it. I was meditating on the carpet in the classroom I once had, many moons ago when I was a high school English teacher. The carpet changed into a river and colors flowed smoothly past my conscience. It's the first and last time I ever saw anything like that while meditating. Or at all. I mean, aside from literal rivers.
My favorite place is a river. It's called the Pigeon River and it's in Northern Michigan. You can sit by it and watch it flow. It's golden and coppery and shimmery. Cold too. I've bathed in that river and spent many hours lost in that river, climbing over beaver dams to find my way. I've canoed it and been shushed by fly fisherman in it. I almost walked into a bear alongside it. I want the ashes of my body poured into it when I am dead.
The river flows.
Dip your hand into it, try and catch me.
Reach too late, I"ll be gone.