I am a stone in a raging river.

The water rushes over me, frothing and churning.  It curls this way and that in no discernible pattern, dragging branches and leaves and other debris along with it.

I am a stone in a raging river.

I am unmoved.  I am rooted to the riverbed, a large rock scratched smooth by wave after wave of sand and water.   I used to have more edges and facets.  More complications. The water has pushed its way into my nooks and crannies and pried them loose.   I have willingly let some of them go, but others I fought to keep until the river wore me down, with much pain, and I relented.  The river was usually right.

I am a stone in a raging river.  I feel strong and solid as so much chaos whirls around me.  I am still among movement.  I am quiet among noise.

Still, I am sometimes dislodged.  The river swells, runs faster and deeper and angrier. I am unable to remain steadfast as the flooding and debris work their way underneath me and carry me off.  I tumble mercilessly, spinning.  I’ve lost my place.

I don’t like being dislodged, yet sooner or later it always comes.  I should expect it, but am always caught unaware, and then I’m reeling.  I am overwhelmed and cannot cope.  I am pounded by gravel and tree trunks and other stones who are lost themselves too.

Eventually I come to rest.  I am able to let all pass by me.  I find solid footing, even as the river keeps moving.  It never stops moving.  It is filled to capacity, carving new channels into everything it touches.

I am carved.  I am rubbed down but not out.  I remain who I am at my core of agate and jasper and granite and heartache and love.

I am a stone in a raging river.

The other night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, this phrase came to me:  I am a stone in a raging river.  I’ve been using it as a meditation ever since, and for whatever reason it brings me peace, so I wanted to share it with you, as part of Just Write, a project by my wonderful friend Heather King of The Extraordinary Ordinary.