Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Blog

Haunted by waters.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

"But when I am alone in the half light of the canyon all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul, and memories. And the sounds of the Big Black Foot River, and a four count rhythm, and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters."
-- Norman Mclean, A River Runs Through It

I heard a sermon, a sermon about the river of life, the living water that Christ offers us to drink so that we might spill out and bless those around us. The water that calls out only to those who are thirsty for it, but those who are willing to drink it.

I know of another river. It sometimes feels like Styx, a dark and whispery kind of stream running beneath the surface, separating two different worlds, always. A kind of melancholy, flowing beneath each day, hidden. An undercurrent, an eddy, a whirlpool, a rip-tide. A shadow of depression, maybe, or a poorness of spirit that whispers behind the door of each day, even the best of days.

I want to be alone when I don't want to be alone. I'm not happy unless I'm not happy. I want to write when I don't want to write. I want light while everything that comes out of me is dark.

To get from point A to point C means going through B and I don't pray that the river go away but that my head stays above the surface long enough to make it through another day. I don't ask for a boat to float along easy-like; no free pass. Thinking myself dry and free won't make it so. Just a breath and then another until the Son comes back in view. It's a river of fire, maybe, a river of death.

I heard a sermon, about a river of life. If you thirst, come drink. Be filled to overflowing and let the living water pour out to those around you. There's no dam and no damnation. It puts out the fire.

Labels: essay, personal

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3 Comments:

I think Paul sometimes felt the same way. I think we all do...

By Panhandle Poet, at 11/6/07 11:54

Thanks Julie for this post. If I may, let me say that I think I know how you feel, having felt some of what you describe myself. Again, thanks for sharing.

By Will, at 11/6/07 12:59