A walk to the river - mindless

On my walk to the river, sometimes the question I should ask myself is what did I not see. It is so easy to have your mind full of wandering thoughts that the outside world can find no way in. It’s as if that wavelength of light just bounced off my eye and right back into the river. Sometimes I see just enough of that flowing river to think, when I get home, that I might have been there.

Mindless or mindful, the words just spin. In mind. On my mind. Out of mind. Open mind. If only to give yourself the chance to be aware of what will matter to you.

And sometimes it’s you I’m thinking of when I walk to the river. Tomorrow it may be the other way around. I mean, that I will think of the river, silly little riffle. Or maybe you will indeed be thinking of me.

Let’s be clear. Some days when I walk to the river, my thoughts are little more than nonsense. A mind full of mindless nonsense.

Either way, I walk. The river does what rivers do.

Two water sketches

A tuft of truth

If,

when you step from your shower

in your wet bare feet

onto a freshly washed rug,

the cotton tufts

raised and yielding

and you think to yourself

that this is one of the sweetest sensations

on earth,

have you taken leave of your senses?

have you lost your mind?

is your life so very empty

that this moment is all you have?

or are you finally and briefly in tune with the universe?

Water for Mali

I heard on the radio the other day that refugees from Mali receive 11 litres of water a day on average but need 20 for cooking, drinking and personal hygiene.

And here I stand in my hot shower - clean, drinkable water streaming off my back.

Now there’s no real connection between here and there. Turning off my water will not turn the water on for those people I will never meet. Here is Kansas. There is Mali.

There used to be a day when I believed I could connect via some omnipotent Source beyond the satellites above. I could humbly ask the Creator and Sustainer of the world to give those poor, thirsty people a drink, and then, having fulfilled my responsibility, I could finish my shower with peace of mind.

But now it’s just me, naked, in the shower, and Lord, it’s clear that I’ve had plenty to eat – and to drink – and pretty much enough of every material thing.

Jesus was a dope. He should have said that it’s easier for a rich man to get into heaven than to swirl down the drain to Mali. He should have taught us how to live with ourselves when human beings are apparently in charge of bungling everything.

I guess, to be fair, he tried. He might have been saying, as I stepped from my shower and he handed me my towel: “whenever you eat and drink, remember Mali.”