A few weeks ago I had the benefit of joining a weekend workshop on relationships, organised by several local people, none with any particular expertise, most coming from following various schools of personal growth. The hallmark of that weekend was, not the professionalism but the adult communication and vulnerable nature of the work. The group might be defined as people who want to make a different world, a new world, a peaceful world, a respectful world, in praxis more than oration. And this waa amply achieved. Myself, I put aside intellectual arguments I might have thought of about certain techniques of understanding our health. And, even if my argument was right, perhaps the health of all is achieved by not resisting the exploration of something unusual, just because it is unusual. I wonder, ‘Is this love?’, allowing that everything is unusual, and that it is okay that something seems unusual, and okay for that something to exist as unusual and exist as a relationship, as acceptable.
The workshop provided an opportunity to write a poem through a facilitation of a word web about relationship and human reality. My poem constructed itself from a reverie of observations by a creek that ran through the property.
I am a River
The water gurgles with a splash and a groan
over the basalt rocks,
while the leaves of the branch above
sway playfully in the gentle breeze,
disinterested in the stem of grass that
bobs and weaves in the rush
of the cascading stream.
I imagine that I am a small river,
the water rushing through and spreading
over a vast flood plain and
gathering to rush out again.
All the time moving on,
forward, faster, slower, still.
Yet jostled then, and then, and then,
as if small river, Me,
is bobbing and weaving
down a vaster river
that I cannot see
from withing each cascading moment.