Finally, the Water

Here is what it comes down to –

None of it makes sense.

None of it.

Why do we try, then,

to figure it out?

It is hard

to sit confounded,

to realize

that it is all Mystery.

It isn’t that Mystery is present.

It is all Mystery -   

These trees,

this water,

the rocks,

the complicated patterns

of nature.

us, 

our relationships, 

the children.

This ache,

that sorrow,

this vivid green watercress arising

out of the urban creek bed,

and the creek that is flowing,

even in October after four years

of California drought.

So,

shrug your shoulders,

shake your mystified head,

and love the trees,

love the water.

Bless it. 

All of it.

Even the aches

and sorrows.

Mystery is whole,

and it is holy,

and so, therefore,

are we,

the hole next to the tree roots,

the tree roots,

the rock they climb over,

the ivy twining around them

down to the creek,

the bird call,

the traffic sounds,

the smell of rot and dampness.

I am here,

finally,

by the water.

And yes, I want

to soothe my soul,

and yes, I am selfish

and want the pain gone.

And yes, also,

I sit here, Mystery.

I sit here.

The squirrel skittering up the tree

makes me lift my head.

I glimpse the magic of

the changing sky.

Words are charms, as well.

I ride them out.