This week away with my group of artist friends, I get to indulge my desire to write full time – at least for this week. With this lovely gift of time comes the problem of sitting for hours a day. I move from porch, to lawn, to chair to table – stretching in-between – but then return to write and thus, to sit. Deciding I needed to move my body or suffer an increase in the pain I already could feel creeping into my hip, I went for a walk. Not wanting to repeat yesterday’s route, I crossed the street to the rocky-river bed and set off in my rubber shoes, to walk downstream.
Weaving at times, like I’d had to much to drink, I grabbed boulders to steady myself and search for firmer footing before moving on over the rocks, in and out of the water. Soon I felt in a trance, marveling at how sure I felt with each step. Off in the distance, I heard the rumbling of a storm and rain drops fell. The sounds of the babbling river seemed – a chorus of conversations at once familiar but incomprehensible – babel, indeed.
Again, I felt drawn to continue on around every bend, and then the next passing under a bridge where tadpoles darted, around a perfect swimming hole where a trout sped by. I walked on the dry stones, crunching beneath my feet and then, plunged back into the water first at my ankles and then lapping up against my thighs and thought about last night’s late night talk with my friends about prayer.
I admit to praying only when in panic mode and so, rarely do these days. For a start, I am not sure, perhaps what it is I am doing when I pray, since I have no real faith in a God (the Catholic training has me capitalizing still) However, I do have a sense, a feeling – that something greater than myself exists – to me, that certainly doesn’t seem like a stretch. In a pinch, that’s the direction I send out my plea. But prayer as something more: as contemplation – meditation does appeal to me as a pause in life to remember that which is important. And that brings me back to the river…
Today, like yesterday, there came a time when I need to decide to turn back. The road runs parallel to the river bed and I knew I could scramble up a slight hill and through some brush and walk easily back to the house – but I didn’t, loving the strain of keeping my balance, the feeling of being one with all of this beauty, this feeling of meditation, perhaps, even of prayer.