The River
Life, Death, Allegory.
At first, they worried about bringing their boats to the water. Would they float? They tested them, then, took to the river with the others. Their tentative strokes grew strong and sure.
They learned by navigating rocks how to navigate rocks, to traverse shallows by traversing shallows, to enter whitewater with trepidation, and emerge, triumphant. While spoiling for what might come next, they congratulated themselves on all they’d overcome.
Remember that sudden bend in the river, the jagged boulder, churning vortex? Look at us now!
As the journey lengthened, they felt a shifting, a change in the air, or in their fortunes. They worried. The fretting dogged them, even as the river posed no threat. Instead, they imagined. What’s out there, lurking behind the trees? The boats were older now, and creaked and groaned more frequently, newly cumbersome as their strokes lost their urgency.
Their luck held, but if any of their number pointed this out, they shouted don’t jinx us! Sometimes their apprehensions were pierced by a beautiful sunset or sweet trill of birdsong. They felt joy, even reverence, but never for one moment did they feel ease.
Yet. They had come so far, and they knew this river. But now, they also knew this river to be unknowable.
The day came that the roar ahead seemed particularly thunderous. If they could, they would land their boats, but this has never been an option. Concern was etched on every creased face, but since there was no choice, they rowed in the direction of the sound. The skills they’d learned, wisdom they’d acquired, the incantations, the rituals, their ancestors they felt certain carried them, or created the wind at their backs, none of these could save them.
But at the end, they never could have imagined the beauty of the ocean, nor their relief at surrendering their oars. They recognized they truly, deeply loved the journey’s gifts and profound purpose. Their last human act, before the sea-change, was to forgive themselves their fear.