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River of the Mind

I find myself on the river. I think it helps quiet the voices, the conversations in my head. The what ifs and the why nots. It also talks to me, the waves crashing in on themselves, rushing to conclusions like I so often do myself. 

It’s not that I don’t judge myself as unwell. I actually do. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But we all do, right? Or is that what we tell ourselves to help feel better about the voices in our head?

This. This right here is why I go to the river. This is the sound I drown out why listening to every drop of water while not hearing a single sound. Everything but nothing. Sound familiar? Because I think it does. I can conquer the world but I’m not good enough to try.

It’s the voices I hide from. But it’s also the voices that speak so much clearer when on the river’s edge. I hear them. I hear him. I miss all the conversations we never had, I wanted to have. But that’s just not how it worked. I blame him, but I didn’t know how to either. And maybe that’s why he went to the river. Because that’s what he knew how to do. 

How much am I trying to speak to my dad when in actuality I’m just trying to talk to myself. The quiet deafening sound of the roaring silence caused by the power of a single drop of water. The power to clear, filling the emptiness of nothing, it fills the void when there’s nothing other than everything.

The river races like the mind. But then it does not. The river needs to move. Because if it does not, what is it other than a void filled by thought.

Sadie, South Fork, 2018