There Is A River

I wrote down what she said that night, though I still can’t tell if she was ever really there.

There is a river,

Formed deep down,

Beneath flesh and bone —

Where eternity’s waters flow,

Crystal clear, in center soul aflame.

“About center chest,” she motions slowly,

“but lower a touch,” her rose-tattooed hand

pointing six inches beneath the sternum.

Her silver hair gleams in the golden glow

cast by the nearest lantern on the far wall.

“Not there physically, but spiritually it feels the center —

neither here nor there.” She motions dismissively,

as if the thought were a passing stranger.

Then she turns her glowing hazel eyes on me.

“The source is not us, but it is in us.

We abide in Him, and He in us.”

She runs her hands wearily through her hair.

Feeling braver, we dare a question.

“How will we know when we have found it?”

She hums, tapping her chin,

nodding as if to a hidden figure.

“You know it when you ask for it —

all that is needed is quiet intent alone with Him.

No special words, no sermons, just you and Him.

Mean it when no one is looking. Just ask. And receive.”

Still braver, we ask a final question:

“Why does it all seem so complicated with others?”

She chuckles, dark humor glinting.

“Business needs capital.

Once the secret is out, the business ends.

Community will still exist, but as small family groups.

The Father desires those who worship Him

in Spirit and in Truth — to live bare before Him.”

She drops her arms slowly to her sides, lost in thought.

I wrote a companion letter to go with this poem as its inspiration. You can read it here.