Poem: Afon Nant Peris

In this rugged, wild, grey-green place, it flows.
Downstream represents that past, of days gone by, the old, the familiar and known.
It is an empty plate of cakes, just crumbs, now gone; it is yesterday’s meal.

The flowing water is time.

I reckon you look upstream! Most do.
Upstream is unfamiliar. It is tomorrow charging towards us and becoming ‘now’.
It isn’t redshift; it is blueshift!
It is the future, it is potential, opportunity, a ribbon of possibility reaching toward us.
It is the unknown. A challenge. A risk.

Time could be the harbinger of good or of bad,
however we define those words.
And yet Rumi’s wisdom of inviting in all those who knock at the door of one’s life echo loud.
For in playing host to all, we may accept a benevolent ‘guide’ from beyond,
and grow in stature.

The flowing water is time.

As I stand motionless and observe, the water flows and yet so do I.
A body that ages.
A mind that thinks.
A heart that beats involuntarily.
A planet that spins. And one that orbits.
A solar system that moves.
Tempus fugit.
Everything is in a state of flux.

And so I, like you, look upstream.
Could this be Afon Nant Peris or even Pishon?
But, I crane my neck and look upstream,
for it is from there that the Spirit calls out to us by name.
The Spirit whispers in the desolation, the forest, even in the city.
God’s activity is recorded in the past, felt in the present, and reverberates to us from the future.

It is from there that The Friend inhabitsrivulet PIXABAY brook-255879_1920
and which, for us, is that other country we heard of long ago,
and to which we journey on.

Yes, the flowing water is time.

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