the river of time

There is a River of Time by which we all live,
a river made only of thought.
Into the river we dive and find what we're seeking,
for we’ve been thoroughly taught
that the memory of our experience defines who we are,
and we must carefully keep
each recollection and event alive evermore
by casting into its shadowy deep.
Thus, our jaded perception is harbored sure
with memories from our sad little pasts,
with imagined hurts and slights making up
the bulwark of the memory that lasts.

From this river we weave our story,
surmise our situation, and write our play.
Our inventions are the scripts in which we star,
and don't ever seem to stray
from the die-hard rule our past makes us
what we are and what we'll ever be.
More insane, we cast our lines ahead in the stream
and try to compulsively see
what the future holds and how it will be when
we make it 'round the river's bend
Gazing ahead, we scour the depths for
imagined problems we would defend.

From the River of Time we haul our nets
dripping unhappiness, sorrow, and pain,
blindly steering unseen waters in advance,
trying to chart the uncharted again.
Consternation is our choice, as we dig up old bones
long lost in the river's silt
then hammer them home, so we are emblazoned
with responsibility and guilt.
This occurs as we plumb the depths
of the streaming thoughts in the River of Time.
Unconsciously, we fail to realize
this has no reason or rhyme.

For it’s truly enchanting to stand right here
on the River's energy brink,
to view its beauty, breathe in its peace,
to consciously stop as we deeply drink
of the Here and Now, of this momentous gift
that is born in the Waters of Life;
to feel the power, this gift that is yours
to never choose memories of strife.
For the thinker of the thoughts you bring to mind
is yourself, and only you.
And what you find always depends on
your chosen perception and point of view.