said the river
imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going
said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
-mary oliver
when you finally say the thing out loud, you do not feel the liberation you expect. after a while, you will even begin to convince yourself that it wasn’t that bad. when the flashbacks finally go away, you will think you must be making it up because your brain is no longer forcing you to remember. you think how much easier it would be if you really did make it up. you could go to your family and say, whoopsie, what a mistake i have made! and they would be glad you’ve finally come to your senses and you could all forget the way they chose to protect the cycle over their own daughter.
yes. that.
would be much easier than this.
the yellowstone river is the longest free-flowing river in the lower 48 states—her headwaters begin in run-off springs high in the absorka mountain range cascading into yellowstone lake—for almost 700 miles this water pours north, embroidering paradise valley, montana in braided channels before culminating into a high-volume waterway flowing into north dakota where it meets the missouri river and one day empties to the atlantic.
said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
you are likely carrying grief that will be a part of you forever.
i don’t say this to deter you from feeling it, working with it, or moving with it. but i caution you in believing that one day you will be healed from the things that happened and free of the shadows that dance in your periphery.
linearity has been sold to us as the way through.
lately, i’ve been wondering if the way through is the only way because there is no way out. one day, maybe, the water of our life’s river meets the sea and instead of spending our lives trying to get rid of the ache, our life just gets bigger than that hurt ever could be.
said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
in 2022, the yellowstone river surged in an extraordinary flood where water levels exceeded all previously recorded streamflow maximums. roads were destroyed, houses pulled from the river banks, and the contours of the surrounding landscapes were redrawn in the receding floodwater. in her wildness, the yellowstone river and her tributaries were at once transformed and transformative. in a flood, water overflow seeks out new ways downstream, moves massive amounts of sediment and gravel, and rearranges terrain. like forest fires are for forests, floods are an essential part of a healthy river’s ecosystem.
the riparian areas of these riverbanks are essential landscapes for ecological diversity. cottonwood and willow trees line these areas and can only seed new trees when the soil is richly damp and sandy—new life thriving only after floods. healthier trees means cleaner water, means stronger fish, means more nesting birds, means richer air.
what at first glance seems devastating is, when looked at through the eyes of ecology, the beginnings of a more interconnected way of being between species.
humans are the only species we know asking for resolution.
the river asks only for new ways of knowing the depths of our relationships.
said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
i have not fully stopped looking for closure. there are days when i still catch myself dreaming of that one day in the perpetually near future when the heartbreak is less sharp. and most days, it is.
while floating the blackfoot river last week, it took until the sun dipped over the ponderosa pine speckled horizon line to realize i had spent all day watching the silty blue green water flow over the rainbow rocks and the light rippling off the waves winking gold dust through the shoreline willows—not drowning in the hurt of it all.
when my hands gripped the hot rubber oars and i angled us out into the current, my whole body flexed against the power of the water and in two strong pulls, we were moving downstream. i understand then, that the opposite of closure is not grief but participation.
as i move my boat through the flow i feel the sun lapping at my skin, the familiar roar of streaming water seems to sing into my own blood. i am enrivered with the spirit of this place. the bilateral paddling lulls me into a dreamlike energy. inside the enchantment i think,
if i am an oar, let me never forget what i can do.
said the river: imagine everything you can and then keep going.
thank you for walking beside me as i learn the language of my own rivers. i hope you find some language here to navigate yours.
all my love,
mimi