Moving Water

There is something about moving water. I am not above fishing a lake, and have long coveted access to a private pond and its fat, under-fished bass. But it has always been moving water that calls to me and beckons me to its shore.

While a lake or pond can be beautiful there is something analogous about moving water that appeals to me. As peaceful and picturesque as an impoundment of water can be it is simply not going anywhere. Sure there are currents and water that may eventually spill over a dam but for the most part the water is contained and controlled.

I don’t want my life to be contained and controlled. My spirit is too restless. My ability to sit still too limited. It doesn’t mean there is no need for boundaries and limits for even rivers have a bank and a shoreline to guide them. But banks and shoreline do not fully contain and control the river; they merely offer guidance as to the direction it should go. The river is moving and flowing and never the same, sometimes fast and furious, other times gentle and peaceful, but always flowing. Always moving.

There is a therapeutic nature to moving water that is not matched by the contained waters of an impoundment. I have a good life and have suffered no major heartaches or setbacks. But life itself is seldom easy even if it is good. When going to the water to fish I am seeking more than the excitement of a tug on my line. When walking the shores of moving water and stepping into its current my spirit is washed and cleansed: if only figuratively. If you allow it, the cool rushing water will wash over you and as it flows on downstream take with it just a little of the stress of life. The waters are not an elixir. They do not heal, but yet they are healing. They speak no words of counsel or comfort, but the sounds of moving water calm and soothe the mind and soul. One seldom leaves flowing water the same as when they entered.

There are times when I wade in the water and feel one with the river as it rushes past me and seemingly through me. Sometimes my trip to the river is in a canoe floating with its current, allowing it to take me for a ride. My favorite places to camp are along the banks of a river making its way over rocks and boulders with the sweet and constant sound of rapids. You awake to same sounds of the river but know that the water that rushed over the rocks as night fell is miles away, replaced by new water on the same journey. Still other times I simply walk the shore and listen.

Just as each hour is replaced by the next, moving waters are always flowing. From the large rivers of the Bay to small wooded creeks and streams moving water has always been a part of my life. In ways difficult to explain it has shaped my life. As long as they continue to flow moving waters will continue to call to me. And as long as life flows in me I will continue to return to them, seeking solace in their movement.

There is something about moving water.

Copyright Rick Ridpath 2010