As a child I sat by the banks of the river, dreaming. Whether the sun was red, or the clouds hung over the top of the reeds, I faced it, bravely. Whenever I sat by the river, I forgot about hardships, I thought only of the future, what could happen, what I wanted to happen. I looked at the river and expected stepping stones to appear, a boat to take me across, or a fairy to secure my passage.
As I turned away from the river of my childhood, to face uncertainty on a different continent, I wished my legs were longer. I thought then I would surely be able to cross it.
Growing up I felt unsettled, like a nose out of joint, a book out of the library, a worm on the turn. I stagnated, I had no flow and no direction.
As an adult, I returned once again to the river. I looked at its wide mouth, it felt like freedom and I wanted to see what the other side would feel like. I looked at my legs, they were still not long enough to stretch to my destiny.
Looking closer, I saw below me a break in the water. Arising from the water was a woman, dressed in robes that shone with rich colour. Her voice was like a song; like a bubbling brook; like every dream I had ever had. Her words were not conventional, I could not repeat them, but they went straight into my heart, and it soared. It went over the river, taking me with it. Pulling me, and guiding me. I felt quite breathless and more than a little giddy. I reached the other side.
Turning to see the woman, I saw she was dropping back into the water. The sunset over her head was like a halo, burnt orange, fading to ochre and she, if a colour, would be gold, although it was like nothing I had ever seen before. I waved and looked at the path ahead of me. I could see hills, mountains, winding paths and straight ones. Dirt, floods and famines. It was all mine, waiting. And I stepped into it gratefully. Ready to finally begin.
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