The Jordan River
This Jordan River is not the one where John
baptized Jesus. Or the one Joshua parts to walk on dry ground into the
promised land. Though it lies between a fresh lake and a dead sea,
this shorter river flows through 'Deseret'.
Walking the trails I wonder how to cope with changes and realities
that seems to overwhelm me. Finding meaning is the fuel that keep me on my journey.
Flocks of ducks and geese arrive and depart on schedules timed with the seasons. A resident beaver has left marks in a small tree. I've seen deer, foxes, and rabbits while walking the rivers banks, and fish fins rippling the smooth water, only to have the waves pressed flat by the slow current or get lost tumbling over round pebbles. Yellow faced black birds sing from old cat tails and swallows zoom around me; there is so much of life in motion that it is a wonder I can think at all. The river slowly sways its thin line of life and motion through a dry
valley of sage brush and cactus. An oasis in motion or an animated road might describe it but river in the desert just does not fit. Water
changes everything.
Today the thistles are in bloom. The purple flower is
bursting from a thorny bud and rising well over my head. Watered by the blacktop's rain runoff, they
grow abundantly for awhile, then harden in the sun, and are crushed in the cold and snow of winter. I don’t know if they are native to this area; don’t they
belong in the highlands of Scotland
or somewhere on the British isle inspiring royal families to rule with justice.
The laws of nature are obeyed here. Beyond the thistles dusty gray-green Russian
olives trees stand peacefully in the warming air. I stay to the middle of the walkway for thorns are the
unpleasant option.
Concentrating on the narrow path, my course does not seem straight. Each foot steps changes perspective and thoughts search for familiar ground. The very limits of my consciousness is an advantage, it focuses my direction and observations. Veils, borders, and weaknesses a protection from being engulfed in a comic misunderstanding or simply put, getting lost. Is my observation determining my direction or my direction pointing me to what I see? Unlike the black and yellow bumble bee flying sideways, I
cannot fly from sweet flower to sweet
flower, I know too much. Not knowing its poor design for flight the bee fly's anyway. And the river goes
where it wants to go. I can choose a trail but not its course. The eternal laws of nature govern destinations. On my footpath my feet move both to avoid injury and return to grand vistas. My imagination both inspires and discourages at the same time, and that may be its only choice.
Mountains and deserts don't stop rivers. They choose their own path, washing away trivia and bridging life towards its divine nature. A rebirth begins from the rocks, sand and mud left behind. The banks are rich, deposits on either side. I've heard that streets of gold moved down these little channels of life. Truth and gold are heavy, they lie beneath careless views. Some know where to look and some keep looking. Both truth and gold are currency, both reside in the current.
This Jordan River is fairly ordinary, as rivers go. Honey bees and human beings come and go, sometimes find treasures in its flow.
