The Truth And Death

Frantically, I pushed and pulled soggy and slippery logs around the flow of water cascading past the tiny fencing that keeps our little pond safe. The fence acts as a barrier but there was too much rain, too much water last night as I discovered this early morning. Desperately, I clinged to long and awkward logs and tried to avoid the briars that cut into my legs. I shed my sandals, not knowing the mess, the slippery mud I was walking into. The raging storm and torrential rains the night before filled the land around us, the tiny creeks rushed on and here at the pond I couldn’t stop the overflow. We travel the tiny bridge, now halfway covered in water to a small trail we made just the day before. The bridge lies over another tiny creek very much alive this morning. The trail takes us past the swampy area of logs and grasses, home to a plethora of bugs, birds landing for a nice fish, turtles and smaller fish that swim close enough to grab an insect landing on the water. This marshy area is one of my favorite and completely under water.

I ignored the swamp, gone for now and went back to my task, this time pulling a dolly, collecting rocks, walking through spider webs, covered in mud just the way I like it. The dolly has a box strapped to the bottom for me to pull my rocks to gardens and this time to the waterfall. Make it stop. I want it to stop. I placed the rocks strategically and moved the smaller pieces of wood. Leaks sprang and water found its way the same as it had before I started. I worked harder, calm and determined to save my pond that was, in truth, not in any sort of danger. Why wasn’t I thinking of the natural order of things? I thought of a blog I had written a few years ago entitled Water Finds A Way, one that I’m sure I discarded at some point and remembered that I wasn’t stopping a thing. In fact, I was only missing out on the beauty.

I asked Taylor from her heaven to guide me to some rocks that I could carry with my dolly and end this maddening flow. Somehow it works every time that I find what I’m looking for and I held a new passion that if I moved these puzzle pieces from Mother Nature herself, the water would stop leaving the pond, leaving me. The pond would be full, damn the swamp. Rocks replaced sticks that replaced heavy logs and nothing was working out. It was a maddening puzzle with three dead fish staring at me as if to relay the message that I am not in control in this environment.

The little waterfall dumped over into a small gully about 3 feet below and joined happily with the fast-paced stream produced in these times, one of many streams, gullies, and natural ponds that appear, clean and life-giving. Even on top of the trails in the woods, small ponds at least 6 feet round can be found and are found by the dogs. The three fish, unlucky to have been swept around my work site were not lucky and died on the branches that laid matter-of factly at the top of the waterfall. That’s the truth of nature and for me, there was no sadness, no empathy as I’ve learned to watch the birds, turtles, raccoons, or whatever manner of wildlife that will sustain itself on the fish. I couldn’t stop the truth.

I stopped suddenly and sat upright. I observed my surroundings. I love the sound of waterfalls. I bought two of them after Taylor passed over.  I looked at the pond, full and more clear than usual, glistening in the soft light of morning. Standing slowly in the muck I walked back to the house, observing the absurdity of the covered bridge and the marsh that must and will return to a drier environment in a day or so.  My shoulder tickled with the leftover spider web I walked through. I worked hard and stopped nothing. I gathered my shoes, dolly, and put my tools away. I ended the mission with a clear mind, no resistance, only acceptance. Lesson learned.

What did the Zen card say yesterday, the one that held the word Truth on one side, the one that I carried with me into my bedroom only for a sad but brief moment, stifled at the law of nature, of the unjust, the law that was written? I couldn’t stop the water. I shouldn’t stop the water. That was the lesson? The truth is that everything is in order and I am not supposed to try to stop it because the bridge will be passable, the bullfrogs will sing, the dragonflies will mate and the pond will overflow until it returns to its order. The birds will land again and the bullfrogs will hide out in their grasses.

The card reads:

What Is, Is.

What IS Not, Is Not.

No Amount Of

WISHING Or

Wanting Can Change

That Simple Fact.

I didn’t hang my head as I sat to record the happenings of a few minutes ago. Taylor, my daughter, is gone from this physical world. I was reminded yesterday that on my path and only in the future will I be able to heal and draw her strength to live in her honor, to give in her absence all of the light and love and laughter that she gave. The truth is that now, I’ll grieve and forever I’ll grieve but I cannot be broken in her divine presence. I can’t stop the truth, I can’t stop the water from flowing or the tears I’ll certainly shed for the rest of my life in my hunger and desperation in missing her.

Accepting the Truth doesn’t mean I must not mourn. For me, though, I can learn in time to accept just the simple fact that in the physical form, she’s not coming back. I can learn to embrace life on other terms and I can live with sadness and despair that will never escape but dissipate as I embrace my Self living my life in service to others as she did and so much emulated in me. I’m sure the water is still flowing out of the pond, maybe cleaning up a bit, soaking the ground of the marsh and bringing new life. I think I’ll put my boots on this time and watch the flow, listen to the waterfall, think of my daughter and what she may be doing today, who she may be helping from her heaven. I’ll sit quietly and reflect, walk the trails and rediscover the water flowing through them while the dogs crash into the small ponds and wander up the rock beds in the cool rushing streams. The truth about death is that you can’t change the past any more than you can change the flow of water, the rain, or the natural order of things. The only change we can make is how we see those waterfalls.