The Other Side of the River

I am forever trading places with my lost self on the other side of the river - only to realize that the sense of loss is itself misplaced. The river flows and in its currents a skein of colors, purple, blue and gold. Quite soon I see these colors rising on my page - the river brims here as well. The self I thought I left on the other shore is committing words to paper.

It's so hard to grasp the sense of this - that we are not alone. We may have faced loss, separation, failure in love but the spirit who abides on the other side of the river - seemingly - is simply looking for a way to smile from our eyes. I could say that this is the Christ who has come down from his cross; I could say that it is the higher self - at any event, once known never forgotten. It's no use to minutely examine life to find this presence. It's in the colors on the river.

So many people I would have called friends once have grown scales of mistrust. This is another reaction to water. Darkness foams against the world of light. But I know that you - the spirit on the other shore - will understand: our days apart are a fading dream. I find you again where none may speak: under the bank's green edge - purple, blue and grey in the watery seams and margins of life. I find you where people gather and speak, where something smiles from their eyes which is not ancient loss but which forgives the world its wrongness.

Jay


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Author: Jay Landar
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