the life and times of a twenty year old designer

Raw Journal Entry: Meditations on a River

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This is another part of a raw journaling project I began here last month. It really has been that long since I’ve done any good raw journaling, but I’m hoping this one speaks to someone else’s heart as much as it’s speaking to mine.

October 30, 2012:

Ok. I’m going to write You a letter knowing I don’t know what to say, but knowing I need to talk to You anyways. I was texting a friend tonight and told her I wished I was moving through life more slowly so I could take it all in. I am often frustrated to see the world moving so fast around me, but should perhaps be giving thanks for the desire to experience it more slowly, deeply, and fully. I hate feeling as though I am rushing through life, really only dipping my toe in.

As though my toes are being brushed by an intoxicatingly fast-moving river, but the fear of being swept off my feet prevents me from moving downstream. I see how these gifts could be good, I understand the theory behind them, but I don’t think I’m a strong enough swimmer to enter the current.

I am longing and I am longing and I am longing.

And yet, behind every promise of clear deep waters lurks a boulder, a sandbar, a rusty fencepost lodged in the stream, promising an abrupt end to the swift fullness. My eyes cannot perceive these obstacles in the immediate downstream, but they were so present in the canals I’d dug for myself in the past that it was impossible to conceive a deep, clear river.

The rough-hewn canoe I am attempting to carve from this fallen log offers a temporary promise of safety, but will also guarantee that I will never know depth beyond a few inches.

And when the log cracks and splinters, the transition will be even more abrupt than if I had chosen to let the water carry me in the first place.

I don’t know if it’s scarier to stand alone at the pier, fearing no one will ever want to jump with you, or to have someone stretch out their hand , or go before you, telling you your time to jump is with them.

The current is the same blood pulsing in my veins. It is dangerous to think the very source of my heartbeat could exist in such a magnified sense, that the rare moments of coursing passion exist as a mere echo of the thunderous waterfalls ahead. That there will be a time when the outcry is justified, when the heart finds an answer that makes the ache make sense.

When we will hold our our precious china teacups under the waterfall, only to find that they were meant to be filled, slip from our grasp, and shatter. And that the shards were meant to be reintegrated into the glittering mosaic,  the shimmering vibration of golden crowns cast down on the glassy sea to which all rushing rivers eventually find their way.

It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since we last heard the call of a trickling brook, just beginning to babble. The river offers refreshment to the nearly satiated and to the desperately parched in equal measure. But the only way to receive a modicum of the broad gifts the river has to offer is to take that first step. To cup trembling hands and raise sacred drops of sustenance to uncertain lips. To jump off the pier and accept the gifts of immersion and loss of control.

And to begin to accept movement towards the sea at the river’s pace, knowing any sandbars and boulders are only temporary obstacles. To accept that it is far better to be moving with the river than to attempt to hack through the dense brush on the banks alone, or to cling to the tangles and shallows.

And. To not be afraid of seeking the adventures that may lie in the depths.


Written by Taylor Webster

October 30, 2012 at 11:42 pm

Posted in Life of the Spirit

One Response

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  1. for one that has spent much of her time in books, it is refreshing to see how Creation is reflected in your musings. thank you for being so observant and helping others to connect with the world around them.


    November 2, 2012 at 2:27 am

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