Returning to the source–and other longings

In my morning meditation, I found myself thinking about rivers, nourishment, and returning to the source.

What I saw about myself is that although I long to drink from the source–to rest in that deep place–I also resist it.

I’m probably heading either towards or away from the source.

I don’t know if any of you work with tarot cards. For me, they’re not for divination, but I use them as a meditative tool.

My favorite deck is called Shining Tribe by Rachel Pollack. I don’t actually use them very often, but today I pulled them out and discovered some interesting things about myself. One of the questions I asked was “What do I fear?”And the card I drew was called Place of Rivers.

And I asked myself–why do I fear that place? Because I realized that I was avoiding it.

Even though I’ve spent so much time alone in the past year, I’ve been keeping really busy–trying to get my business up and running and earning money. Especially since I decided to leave my teaching job this past fall. (That was a tough decision–as you can see in My life as a waffle.) I think it’s not so much that I fear turning within as much as that I think that if I stop doing-doing-doing, I’ll never succeed.

My deep knowing tells me that isn’t true–but I often don’t pay that much attention.

So when I find myself in a situation like this, I do what any sensible person would do–I write a poem!

Take me to the source–a poem

Follow the river back to its source
Deep waters, cool and dark
Nothing to fear--except getting lost or
Forgetting to return to the busy-ness of life.
But this is not the River Lethe-- the waters of forgetfulness
These waters bring back memory
of who we truly are.
This remembering also brings pain--
That ache in the chest like drinking water
that's too cold too fast.
Like a knive that cuts from the inside.
Perhaps that is what is needed
--metaphorically speaking, of course--
To open ourselves like the source
To let our own cool, dark waters flow
To nourish others
And ourselves.

Poetry Friday

Happy Poetry Friday, everyone. This week, Karen Edmisten hosts. She shares a wonderful poem by Billy Collins about his being the same age as Cheerios. Inspired by the poem and post, I found out that I’m the same age as bubble wrap, boursin cheese, sea monkeys, tang, and the whopper!

That sounds like a poem right there. What are you the same age as?

Thanks for stopping by! Have a great week.

xoxo