A Separation of Life

Water, the median of life. Growing up in a small town nestled tightly

in the arms of the wasatch front, I learned early the importance of

nature. There was a fine line drawn between religion and the

outdoors, and the quest of my life was to determine an appropriate

balance. Water, signifying the line between the spiritual and physical,

played an important role in my secular teachings. Cutting through the

center of town it was the very phenomenon that I had grown to love,

the river. Soul restored and imagination stirred, the words of the river

echoed the marks of God. Although by nature I stood alone,

untutored and untouched, the waters of life left me free to

understand the natural side of God's order. With its flowing properties

and unbridled passion to move forward, the water was my spirit.

An old weathered palm tree emerged from the seemingly impenetrable

sandy beach. I leaned back against its rough surface as the waves of

the emerald blue ocean slowly crawled to my feet. They lapped

relentlessly against the shore as if trying to take me back with them.

The wind blew gently over the top of the distant incoming waves as

they mirrored back the competing rays of sun. With each reflection, I

narrowly squinted my eyes and continued to marvel at this

picturesque interaction of color and beauty.

I raised my hand to my brow, wiping off the beads of sweat that

saturated my face. As my fingers moved across my sensitive skin, I

could tell the sun had left its mark. I felt their was no escaping the

blanket of rays only the clouds above seemed to be able to control.

The pain was uncomfortable, but disappeared quickly as I scooped up

the cool water and splashed it on my face.

I knew that I could not drink the seemingly infinite volume of water

which surrounded me, so I headed for a nearby stream. Kneeling

down, I penetrated the stream with cupped hands and raised the

fresh water to my dry lips. I was unable to control the water as it

sifted through my fingers and ran down my arms, as if trying to

escape back to the stream. I licked my salty lips and drank. I had

never before tasted a more refreshing drink of water. This euphoric

experience was one that I savored, as I reached for a second

handful.

There have been few experiences throughout my life that I remember

more vividly than of that day on the beach. I often think about where

the water would flow, and who would be the recipient of its aqueous

forgiveness. This simple stream had been the solution to my

unquenchable need for sustenance. My connection, as if umbilical,

was met when I broke the skin of mother natures body to partake of

her life giving substance. But, something separated me from that

world which existed internally beneath the stream. This was the first

spiritual encounter I remembered having with water. The thoughts of

these experiences connected my inner most soul with the interaction

of beauty and nature. Not a nature that I fully understood , but an

understanding of the line that connects the perfection of life to a

spiritual world. Eventually all things merged into one, and I would

understand both physical and spiritual, but until then I would be left

untutored.

All existence seems to fade into a being. Memories past and present,

would leave with them impressions of the future. These memories

always brought me back to the river which cut through my town, and

the water which had brought me closer to the line of spirituality.

The blanket of life stretched across the valley as the wind blew

calmly over the tops of the trees. I fastened my khaki green bag to

my shoulder as I slowly released the tension of my line sending the

small hook end over end into the water. The occasional silver flash of

light broke through the undercurrent of water as I pulled my hook

over the rocks and twigs that extended through the river body.

Fishing was something that I enjoyed more than anything. I had

spent much of my growing up years slipping on the rocks that lined

the bottom of this riverbed like mosaic tiles. Although it had been

quite some time since I had visited "the river", the smooth sound of

the water as it meandered by welcomed me back. As the sun beat

down, racing its way through the trees, I was reminded of the

experiences I had with the stream before. Taking the fresh cool

water and dripping it down my neck, I realized what draws me to

these majestic places. To understand this barrier of life, a barrier that

separated me from this underworld of water.

I stood on the outside trying to pull some piece of intricate life from

this world I knew nothing about. Motivated to understand this

spiritual nature, the worlds converged into one, a world of life. The

simple existence of the stream brought the very compulsive questions

that caused me to wonder. Just as I didn't understand its exact

purpose thousands of miles away, or even one hundred yards up

stream, I knew its effect on me here and now would leave its

impression.

Running over rocks, squeezing though cracks, and providing the

essential elements of life were the unwavering properties of the

water. Although interacting with its surroundings for just a moment,

the river would leave its mark, carrying on its way of life, never

knowing where it would end, or if it ever ended.