Waiting For The Flow

I came upon a familiar stagnant lake

a dank, unmoving stillness

fettered dreams anchored deep below

a reminder of past circumstances.

At one end of the shoreline, a young boy

toiled diligently to block the water

from flowing downstream in a rivulet

a sorrowful trickling in an aimless weave.

The young boy sees me, and nods his head.

“You’ve finally come. I’ve been waiting for you.”

He inspects a piece of wood, then places it

on the formidable dam he’s erected.

“Why are you damming this lake?”

“I’m waiting for my father,

who left a long, long time ago.

He’s not coming back, is he?”

“I’m waiting for my life to be different,

so I can please my distant mother;

I’m waiting and waiting, and I can wait

no more. I’m waiting for the flow to go.”

“Unburden yourself; let me help you.

Let’s remove these blocks, this wood,

and the flow can go, rushing, cleansing

draining these waters of woes.”

We piled the wood away from the lake,

releasing movement with sighs of relief,

limiting beliefs flowing out of fathomless fate

and finding new ways of being.

We built a bonfire with the salvaged wood.

“Tell your story to the fire, all the hope

you dammed, the sorrow you felt, the

flow that didn’t go. Exonerate, honor

the ordeal you went through all this time.”

The young boy, smiled and told his story

the courage it took, and the burden he held.

“Thank you, for coming, thank you for not waiting.”

A lake of tears pooled around his eyes

spilled out running down his face

rivulets of water flowing freely

as he leapt into the flow of my heartbeat.