Sunday, June 14, 2009

Waters Run Through It

With Apologies to Robert Redford and Norman

Each of us here today will, at one time of our lives, look upon a loved one who is in need, and ask the same question,
We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed?
It is true: we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.

And, so it is these we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them. We can love completely, without complete understanding.

Long ago, rain fell on mud and became rock. Half a billion years ago.

But even before that, beneath the rocks, are the Words of God. To Him, all good things, wind on the water, and sailing as well as salvation, come by Grace. And grace comes by art, and art does not come easy.

Now, nearly all those I loved and did not understand in my youth are dead. …. But I still reach out to them.

Of course, now I'm too old to be much of a sailor and now I never sail the big waters alone, because some friends think I shouldn't.

But when I am alone in the half light of the channel, all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul and memories.

And the sounds of the big Pacific surf and a four-count rhythm and a hope that a steady 15-knot breeze will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one. And water runs through it.

The oceans were delivered by the world's great floods and run over the rocks from the basement of time.

On some of the rocks are timeless rain drops; under the rocks are The Words and some of the words are Theirs.

I am haunted by water.

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