I Don’t Know Where The River Flows

The Fallen Leaf

The Fallen Leaf

BOGUE CHITTO STATE PARK, LA—I sat on a railing, on a boardwalk, overlooking a pond and watched leaves fall from the trees into the water. The wind, striking them, scoots them about like tiny sailboats—guiding them along their destiny.

I have been contemplating and practicing the words I read a few days ago, written by the 13th century mystic Meister Eckhart:

When we go out of ourselves through obedience and strip ourselves of what is ours, then God must enter into us; for when someone wills nothing for themselves, then God must will on their behalf just as he does for himself.

I don’t know where it’s all leading, I don’t know where the currents are taking me. I am a man of faith, but it’s difficult to relinquish all control.

I don’t know where the River flows… but then, neither does the snowy white pelican.

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4 thoughts on “I Don’t Know Where The River Flows

  1. Your river current created a ripple.
    (I hope this reproduces as a poem, not a paragraph.)

    WHERE THE RIVER FLOWS

    On a railing I sit, watching leaves
    stripped from trees fall to water,
    becoming tiny sailboats to the wind.
    I don’t know where the river flows.

    I am stripped myself, and willingly—
    flowing in harmony with the current.
    I don’t know where the river flows…
    but neither do the leaves or the pelican.

  2. Thanks, Wayne and Nan.

    I have a friend who loves to tell me “Poetry is condensed truth.” In this case, Wayne supplied the truth and I did the condensing (or SHE did, as the pair of us).

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