Flow

Late again...if I keep this up, these will be my morning papers!  Apparently I wasn't supposed to share another poem from my youth since I found myself utterly exhausted, wondering how in the world I was going to write anything  Then I must have fallen asleep in my comfortable rocking chair, my favorite place to sit with my laptop, and here I am.  Thankfully I don't have an early morning (for once, it seems).


A conversation on my radio program earlier today (with Barbara Schacker, Global Awakening) has led me to ponder how many of us are beginning to find ourselves in a much more "organic" world.  It's a world of much more fluidity than discrete definitions.  Many of us like to think that we "go with the flow" in our lives, but I wonder just how often we actually manage to do so.  In our world of discrete definitions, there are plenty of barriers to keep life from from truly flowing freely from the heart, yet if we surrender to the power of our creative potential, the flow creates itself.

A favorite classical piece of mine is The Moldau, Smetena's expressive symphonic poem about the river he dearly loves.  Listen closely here.   I have known many mountain streams in my life, and so I can "see" this river well (and perhaps some day, I will finally be fortunate enough to see it for real).

At the beginning, the awakening flow is virtually imperceptible, distinct elements joining together in a dance of potential.  You can literally hear how the quietly growing stream flows easily over the discrete rocks in its way, finding its playful path.  It's wonderful to listen to the gentle voice of streams at this stage - I could literally do so for hours.

Then the stream begins to grow.  As it gains in maturity, there is more sophisticated interaction with its surroundings, including the people who begin to appreciate its beauty and the gifts it brings.  There is mystery too as night falls, yet it flows undeterred by the darkness, the moonlight lending even greater beauty.

Then the channel narrows.  I know many rivers at this stage.  This is perhaps the most challenging part of the flow, yet also its most powerful.  If the flow truly desires to be free, the more discrete limitations placed upon it, the more the existing landscape attempts to channel its energy, the stronger it becomes.  There can even be a sense of peril perceived by those with whom it interacts, yet the flow of its creative purpose yearns to break free.

The rapids pass.  Liberation.  Stillness.  Hidden depths take form.  At this point, I must admit I become wistful following the river, as in Smetena's world it enters into a city, and I find myself rather sadly pondering   its playful beginnings.  Yet one wonders if the multiple dimensions of this flow can actually exist in parallel.

In the end, Smetana's now majestic river lends the power of its full creative contribution to the Greater Unity of another, and one can imagine the Ocean that awaits.  One could say our beautiful little stream disappears, but does it really?