The River

i sat by the river of grief

i sat by the river of grief
prepared to hear her story

i waited
and i waited

frustrated
i said
i'm here! 
tell me what it is
you need to tell me
so i can be on my way

but all i could hear were the sounds
of her waters rushing over
rocks whose edges
were now much softer
than before

message received

partially satisfied
mostly disappointed and annoyed
i dipped a toe in her river
so i could finally go
but she pulled me in

i have something to show you
She whispered
something of life you need
to let flow through you

it's not a story i can tell you
while you listen 
by the edges
and these are not waters
everyone chooses to swim in
but this is the river of life and death
and this is where you are

i thrashed 
fighting to keep
my head 
above the stir of 
the waters roar

profoundly shocked
but the river doesn't slow

unsure if i loosen my limbs
or tuck them by my side
as the river has her way

with nothing in sight
i escape to familiarity -
the only refuge i can grasp

and i forget

i find my belly sprawled 
over a rock
exhausted
to my bones

i don't want to do this again

i stare at the river 
watching her flow by 

one fish
two fish
three fish
four ...

i begin to see more life

i tell the river
she doesn't need 
to pull me in

i will go gently

a little weak
and unsure how
to keep up with her speed
i slip with both feet

in and out
thrashing and 
vigorously treading
i still can't see
and i can't find
my breath

i seek refuge again

ughhhhhh
i fucking hate this
i don't want to do this anymore

i see the edges

if only i could get there

but the water takes me
by surprise every time

i sigh
i find my breath
or it finds me

it's nice here
it's not a bad place to die

but i can see the birds
in the trees
this mother feeding
her babies 

she hunts for food
never coming back
with an empty beak
scanning for prey
each time she goes
in and out
and does it again
and again
allllll
         day 
               long

from sunrise
to beyond sunset
i see her
never hesitating
never questioning 
living
being what she is
a bird
a mother
a hunter
a protector
a guardian
a being that's being

i'm just lying on this rock

the wind dances on my skin
and remembrance of life
trickles in

ok
i guess i'll go again

and then I hear ...

wait baby girl
take a moment
look around
see where you are
the flow of the river 
breathe
breathe deep
it's the only
way to stay calm
and you have 
to stay calm 
to see
and you have
to see 
to know 
whether to let 
your arms go
or tuck them in
and hold you close
or whether it's
time to swim to shore
and take a pause
before forgetting
how you end
up on some rock

it's a dance
between surrender
and power in your autonomy
but i promise
you will never control
her flow

but you can learn
to swim
you can learn
to slide through
her smooth cracks
and you can learn
to be tumbled
and rumbled
through her rapid core
coming out the other side
with a stronger breath
and deeper insight

ok
i say

i heard what i
needed to hear
and with my breath
anchored in
i announce

i'm ready to begin again

i sit up
this time
i don't come
to my feet

it's best to enter
humbly

but not humble enough
clearly

from rock
to river
from rock
to river
to the occasional
shore
i find myself
more and more
frustrated than before

how many times
are we going
to play this fucking game

She replies,
don't worry
you are learning

don't you notice

in and out
in and out
and back again
each time
with something new

you have your breath

its guiding you
where you need to be 
and you are learning
what you need to be free

don't mistake your repetitive
need as weak
mastery is chiseled over time

there is nothing here
for you to win
my dear
nothing for you to conquer
and nothing here you
need to prove

let your waters
rage with her roar
and dance between
rock and shore
face down or belly up
it does not matter 
on your feet or your ass
She couldn't care less

it's your journey
baby girl

It's the journey

The River Of Life And Death

---

This is where I find myself—between rock and river, rock and river, to the occasional shore. From what I can tell, it’s all a part of The River — the rock, the earth River makes her impressions on, the land cradling her, and all the beings living in, on, and from it all — It’s all connected.

Lately, I’ve been acutely aware of my dismissiveness about all of it. Feeling incredibly disconnected and disheartened, unsure of what importance I find anywhere. It’s an old pattern I easily identify with, and one whose experience is quite miserable and dull. I’m far enough away to see, but often too close to simply observe this part of me. Although I am remembering, it’s not all of me.

---

It’s impossible to put words to where my father’s death took me and the forest I continue to navigate. Its depths are beyond language, but I am slowly beginning to find some for where I am now — the River of Life and Death, which I believe is also the river of grief.

Grief is an interesting thing. I had heard people say it’s wild, and I can now confirm this truth. I used to associate grief with sadness, but I no longer think that’s what it is. For me, it feels like grief is somehow everything, but it only feels possible to meet her at the intersection of Love. It’s this meeting of pain with the holding of infinite love that can show up in a variety and multitude of ways, that I call grief. Have you ever been so moved by something so beautiful that your heart broke open and the river flowed through your eyes? Have you ever hurt so deeply you roared in pain from the well in your belly? Have you ever worn a blanket wet with regret for what you’ve done or haven’t done? Have you ever witnessed someone die? Have you ever witnessed someone being born? Are these not all experiences of grief with a different flavor? Do these not all break your heart open from a different angle? Without the heart-breaking pain, you can’t have the heart-breaking joy, or gratitude, or awe.

There is no box you can put grief in. She can be full of confusion or emptiness, or her well can spring clear sorrow from your depths. She can bring you to your knees in despair or reverence, or to your belly seeking comfort or refuge. Grief can shatter you to pieces while you’re curled up on the couch, convinced you may never move again, and she can pull you to your feet, inspiring you to climb mountains you never thought possible.

Someone who knows their grief is someone who knows themselves, and someone who knows grief is someone who knows life. At least that is what I tell myself as I learn to swim and surrender to The River.

---

Nothing could have prepared me for this—for life in this way.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

I spent most of my life thinking about life — how I should live it, how I’m not living it the way I should be, wondering if I’m being good enough, thinking about all the ways I could be better, and mentally battling polarities inside myself. I lived from the shoulders up. I intellectually understood I had a body, but I had no connection to my body other than through the physical world. I was not connected to the universe inside me, and therefore not connected to the life outside me. But that’s not true for me anymore. I am far more connected to the universe that lives and breathes through this body.

My dad’s death has opened the door to parts of me I’ve desperately wished would disappear. It’s brought me face to face with the parts of me that have wanted to die — the parts that feel so weighed down by the heaviness of life and find existence pointless, unfulfilling, dull, and miserable.

Some may think this sounds like a bad thing. Who in their right mind would want to come face to face with this part of themselves? Some may think even having a part like this calls for a mental evaluation, or may conclude that positive thinking is the solution for this level of negativity.

What I want to say here is that while it is helpful and essential to have access to a healthy part of ourselves that can observe and witness our many experiences, positive thinking has never been a balm for my pain. I would much rather learn how to allow the river to flow through me than to push it down and drown in her waters.

What I am finding is that in death, there is somehow life. That in meeting these parts of me that so desperately want to escape this experience, I am also meeting the parts of me that deeply want to live. And the more I am willing to see and experience my own pain, the more I can differentiate between mine and someone else’s. Through this learning and differentiating, I have not only begun to see and acknowledge my own pain, but I have begun to see and acknowledge my own beauty.

I continue to swim between forgetting and remembering, what’s familiar and the completely unfamiliar and unknown. As I navigate these waters I now find myself staring at The River, wondering…

When did I fall out of love with Love?

When did I fall out of love with Life?

When did I fall out of love with myself?

And although the “when” is a meaningful question to ponder, it’s really a door that opens to an inquiry of what it would be like to fall in love with Love, how It would feel to fall in love with Life, and how freeing it would be to be madly in love with myself.

If there is one word I could use to describe what I imagine falling in love in this way would be like, it would be grief, but it would be the most beautiful life-giving grief I could imagine.

I don’t think grief is bad. I think she is necessary.

---

I finished this poem below five days before my dad died. At the time I was swimming in the unfamiliar and somehow remembering something deeply familiar. For me, the poem I started this post with and this poem that I am now ending this post with are reflections of different waters from the same river I am navigating.

The familiar and the unfamiliar.

The known and the unknown.

Pleasure and pain.

Expansion and contraction.

The rock, the river, the shore.

Life and Death.

The River of grief.

---

nothing is familiar here

---

nothing is familiar here 

not this body 
or the way i 
live inside  

not these clothes 
or the flesh 
they hide  

not the beds  
i lay my body in 
or the company 
i keep close  

my friends who  
feel like home 
are back East  
where i come from 
where sandy soft shores 
meet the edge of the world 
and the Atlantic 
invites all to play  
in the wakes 
of love she makes 
with the moon  

but where i come 
from they won't 
tell you the moon 
has many lovers 
from the stars 
to those who 
wield her magic 
she dances with 
the sun daily 
while he penetrates 
the Earth 
and all her mystery  

all my roots 
i unrooted 
are back East 
where the air makes 
you wet with just 
one brush against your skin 
a few moments 
in her presence 
and she'll have you 
begging on your knees 
you'll either  
love or hate her tease  

nothing is familiar here  

the shoes i wear 
are two years old 
and as crisp as the day 
i got them 
my feet prefer 
to be as free 
as my breasts 
and my breasts 
have been contained 
for far too long 
they despise 
movement confined 
by laces 
unless you wrap 
them around my ankles 
for fun in play spaces  

but you need shoes 
in the high-desert 
of the mid-west 
where cacti grow 
like wild flowers over 
The Wild Mothers 
exotic body 
where Her curves  
are made of 
granite and limestone 
and her forest 
of Spruce and Pine
she'll soften your heart 
with Juniper and Sage brush 
but Her edges 
will let you know 
don't fuck with me  

The East will bring you 
to your knees 
but the Mid-West will throw 
you on your back 
the sun so hot 
in his presence 
you'll be edging 
within seconds 
and the wind will  
dominate you 
into submission  

of course 
you have choice 
but i find 
pleasure in 
surrender 
sweet relief 
in letting go 
into open arms 
of Great Mystery  

nothing is familiar here  

I am 
i am me 
annnd i don't exist  

this Earth is 
no longer my 
reality  
but She is what  
grounds me 
into this canvas 
of experience 
my voice and dance 
the brush 
for this artist  

nothing  
is what it used to be  

not the way  
i view the world 
or how i live 
in it
  
everything has changed  

even the foundation 
of my family tree  

and yet 
here we are again 
and again, and again, and again...  

i once thought  
The Universe  
conspired against me  

but now i see  

She 
is for me  

in the belly  
of my beast 
She whispers to me 
pave your way with  
pleasure and sacred intimacy 
She says it again
pave your way with  
pleasure and sacred intimacy 
one more time 
so it travels the journey 
from my ear to my heart 
pave your way with  
pleasure and sacred intimacy 
She guides with  
old bones and synchronicities 
marks doors with 
containment for my psyche  

solace for my soul 
while my ego 
resists bending 
at its knees  

stubborn and terrified 
she fights 
to her death 
again, and again, and again  

i am reborn 
again, and again, and again  

into nothing  

into something  

into everything  

unknown and known  

nothing is familiar here  

4.28.25
breathe deep child, keep remembering.

---