The River

There is a river in Nova Scotia that waxes and wanes.
The water flows West when the tide is coming in,
and East when the tide is going out.
It is a river that breathes with the ocean, with the moon.

We find a clarity in going, in coming,
in being “on our way.”
When the river is flowing,
it knows what it is, it knows how.

But during the shift, the in-between,
the precise moment when it is not flowing West
and it is not flowing East —
Is it still a river?
It is not still.

It is nothing, everything, chaos.
The water molecules churn about in unison,
together in their indirection.
The energy of the river is not this way or that,
it is simply not,
as it longs to remember how again.

We live in that moment,
in the stillness, in the chaos,
not who we were this last moment,
not yet who we are to become.

Here, in this singularity of
nothing, everything, one.

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