always bailing water from leaks i can’t find. if i stop paddling, i drift. if i fall asleep, i crash. the current pushes me backwards. tiny sin-lines weigh me down like sticky anchors, the longer i keep them the bigger they grow, bouncing along the bottom collecting weight. and He’s with me in the boat, i know it, but mostly He’s invisible.
and then He says, go there. and i say, there? and He says, yes. and i say, straight through that canyon of shattered glass that's going to filet me?
and He says yes.
and then He points to the top of a waterfall. go there, He says. and i say, there? and He says, there. and i say, are you kidding around, i can’t climb a waterfall? and He says, go. and He’s there, i feel Him, but mostly He’s invisible.
and i shoulder the boat and shudder under the weight and earn the bruises and the blood and i get to the top and He says, go back down. and i say, down? and He says, down. and i say, what was the point of that climb?
and He is silent.
and i fall asleep in exhaustion and crash. and i throw my paddle in anger and crash. and i turn the boat around and paddle down stream as hard as i can and crash. and i turn around again in confusion and despair and i crash.
and He is there with me and my arms are getting stronger but so is the current and i'm certain, dead certain, in my bones, He is there.
but most of the time He’s invisible.
and sometimes i bail for hours from a leak i can’t find and He doesn’t stick His finger in the leak, nor does He point it out til we crash and the rock spearing through my side separates the long-simmering problem from me as bone from marrow.
it's like all the video games of childhood when i didn’t know how to drive, always pedal to the floor, and then crash. respawn. crash. restart. crash. relive.
and my boat is too flimsy and my arms are too weak and my water bottle is too small and the current is too strong and the elements are too wild and the distance is too far.
but He's there. He's there. do you see Him?
through the crashes and the leaks and the scrapes and the bleeding and the broken arms and the busted blood vessels and the pain and the grief and the unrelentingness of sorrow.
through stretched-out weeks and split-second years and nights of weeping that never end but always pass.
He is there in the storm. His breath animates my cells, vibrates my bones, holds together all my crushed bits. and one day, one fine day He will no longer be invisible.
If you’ve enjoyed this piece of creative writing, I’d love to hear about it!
Jodi! Beautiful and rich, our hearts resonate. Creative and alive in its style and telling.
amazing. jodi. you specak with such insight. deep into the heart for us all!