La Riviere de l’Enchantment

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What is it with emotions? Why are we so afraid of them? Why is it that we run away from them, like the dusty sunlight that comes in through bedside windows on winter mornings. It’s an affirmation to our rivers within, and like all rivers, they take and give it back, caress and smite, devastate and bless. And you don’t have to live near a river, you can go to it and dip your toe and come back. The thing is you’re no longer two separate things once you do it, the river becomes a part of you, and you become a part of the existence of the river. You two now know each other, and therefore can’t un-know each other. When I do dare to think about the early morning dew near my parental home, the cacophony on the streets as the town warmed up, the corridors at school I walked to get a glimpse of what she was doing, her braided hair with the hairclip tucked in, the layered, colored stones of the fence I used to jump to play in the evening, I do it as an outsider, like somebody looking at me as I am taking sixty-second breaths to dive into allegedly pearl infested waters. I do occasionally find that person come up with masterpieces, sometimes underwhelmed, sometimes overwhelmed, crawling out to the shore on his knees. However, like all sport, the diving tells me, the other person, that it’s not about the things that get pulled out of that river, but the things that don’t, that make us whole. Just like God doesn’t lie in the temple, or in the mountains or in the surgeon’s scalpel, but in the poor man’s food, in the oxygen that keeps us animated when the air gets thin, in the recovery of our bodies after the surgery has been done. So I don’t dive in much anymore, in fact I don’t even know if I do, I just make sure the things that hold the river together are alright. We know we are there for each other, like old friends, on different drums.

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