Page Lambert Creative Adventures


As far back as I can remember, my mind has raced like a river running full bore.  Thoughts stream through my consciousness like thundering whitewater. Flash floods of ideas bombard me from all sides. Unexpected currents of reckoning pour in from ephemeral tributaries muddying my mainstream and stirring up my already turbid focus.  On a good day, I pick up a question here, a validation there, and sometimes an entirely new mix of temperature, scent, taste, and vision come together to form a richer whole. On a bad day, I find myself helplessly wrapped around an ego-sized boulder being pounded by indecision. All too often, at my own peril, my thoughts veer off from safe channels to rush headlong in a cascading denial of the danger that accompanies such drama.   


Lately, I have grown tired of the pace. The heady rush of excitement wears thin.   Trapped in the futile frenzy of rollercoaster days left empty and exhausted at their close, I push ahead through miles of rushing water trying desperately to hold my focus in midstream.  Gradually slowing my breath and my thoughts, I let the burdens drop out—first the weighty boulders of agendas that are not mine, then the niggling pebbles of daily trivia, next the fine sands of dissatisfaction until, at last, my murky mind begins to clear.


Released from the heavy stream load, I float effortlessly to the surface— face in the sunlight; body supported by raw power turned playful and nurturing.  At this pace I can make choices, pick my battles, move on, and be at peace.  Seduced by the current—sliding by, moving ahead—I release to the past all unresolved impediments to growth.  Dancing with the river now, my own rhythm merges with the greater rhythm.  Slipping into the calm between the spaces of the molecules, I create my own element of existence—not apart from, but a part of a greater consciousness—on a meditative journey that dips in and out of the essence of being.


Long afternoons on a languid, liquid-silver river, I meander so listlessly my stream doubles back on itself until my thoughts are cut off to lie landlocked in forgotten oxbow lakes of memory.  My mainstream continues its journey ahead, dredging deeply into recollection beds and cutting sharply into memory banks—holding on to what is cherished while blessing and releasing what is no longer needed even as I yearn to return up stream to shallow recollection pools and scour in sand grains of regret. 


Pulled onward by a benthic source that calls me to live in the now, slipping under the surface of my conscious mind, remembering my own forgotten potential—I am a powerful woman; I was a powerful child—shadowing the strength of an old truth, I sense a tandem existence.  I release into the earthly beauty, welcoming the mental clarity that nurtures my flow of creativity.  The Great Blue Heron leaves his three-pronged footprint on my heart.  


Finding my own way through tangled, watery synapses of derision and doubt, fear and mistrust, and finally catching an eddy of enlightenment, I momentarily drift into the quiet calm.  My current arrives—frothy, brown, tired.  Something organic within the foam catches the last rays of a dying sun, flashing a satori beam of insight that keeps me moving on down river as my chosen journey carries me forward under the star shine of moonless nights into the laser hot sun of endless days.  Cycling through the glorious phases of Mother Moon, I sense a presence accompanying my own presence in this infinite mobius strip of a river.  Gliding along the curve of the river bed, I discern the character of my mind like feeling my body’s contours through the strokes of a lover’s hand.  My river softens and spreads out into the delta of my life. Soon—I will be the ocean and the ocean will be me.



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