Friday, February 26, 2010

The River Calls

     The shift is a disinterment. I refuse to allow the experiences and challenges I have overcome remain forever buried in a potters’ field marked with a nameless piece of rock. I will call them by name and honor their remains. It is not the bones and ashes that I wish to resurrect but the organic life of hope, courage, faith and surrender they have bequeathed me. 
     Hope does not cross its fingers. Hope knows its path, the sound of its voice and its eyes are never dimmed. Hope is the migratory scout that finds the food. Hope flies at the point so the other birds can draft.
     Deep in my soul there is a river. Its bed runs deep and its banks are wide. The winds may bellow and the rains may fall. The bed is deep and all is still. Deep in my soul there is a river. I call it home, I call it hope.  Tonight the deep calls.