The River is High

I live on the edge of a small local river known as the Castor River. At this time of year, the ice has not quite melted at our end, the water is deep, the ice having been thick through the winter. Further up stream, in the village, the water's depth is much less, and the water is flowing quickly. As a result, my backyard becomes a cold, watery area, and as my yellow canoe sits purched up in a tree, and our dock strapped to yet another tree, we wait for the melt, and for the river to go down. I sit inside my house, the wind is blowing, the sun is shining on the river water,and my cup of tea brews to the mumbling sounds of what to write in my brain. Thoughts are like the river, each turns into an action, and travels downstream. Meditation is like the ice. It sits still and contemplates, allowing the sun to slowly penetrate its surface and transform a single ice crystal into a drop of water. When enough crystals melt in a single area, it becomes one with the flowing river, and continues its journey downstream. The quiet of the meditation merges with thought, and becomes action. When you become one with thought, one with the universe, then you merge with the flow of life and travel on your journey downstream. Meditation is the stillness between breaths. The ice before transformation. A quiet moment surrounded by many flowing thoughts of water.