I prayed to the River

A few days before I went into labour I spoke to the river,

laying flowers in the currents,

whispers of prayers swept away with the wind.

I asked for protection,

I asked that the waters of these lands flow to support an easeful birth,

I asked that river bless my baby’s emergence earth-side and throughout our little one’s life to come.

After he died I felt deeply angry at the river —

all water really.

I felt betrayed.

For the majority of my labour, I was back and forth between the tub and the sheepskins that were set up by our window overlooking the creek that ran by our home.

And the 15 months that followed that tragic day I couldn’t bring myself to be submerged in water —

No baths,

no swimming,

no cold plunges.

It was a trigger that I was unwilling to face.

I resented the waters;

I resented myself.

Feeling like I prayed wrong,

or like I didn’t listen to the words the river was quietly speaking to me.

I began to feel the pull to approach the waters again.

My intention was to call on my sisters and go to a sacred spot somewhere,

a beach we could all land.

My daydreams were that of sisterhood support and prayer,

on a hot summer day,

raw, naked, and very intentionally walk into the waters

together.

But then, a few days ago I was invited to float along a local river with a group of friends.

Knowing there was a chance of ending up completely soaked,

I still felt that I wanted to go,

so I accepted.

I grew up loving water,

and quickly became a strong swimmer —

not olympic level or anything,

but definitely confident in my aquatic abilities.

The anxiety that came up within me was tangible —

a recognition that I would engage with the element of water again,

for the first time since Floyd died.

We were all excited,

even me.

As everyone was getting ready,

blowing up floatation devices,

and lathering up with sunscreen —

I took a few moments to be alone with the river.

We spoke,

her and I,

about our journey.

How I prayed before birth —

what happened throughout my labour,

the feelings I felt.

Silently I rested my hands on her bank,

“I’m sorry” I whispered.

A small wave washed up over my fingertips.

Exhale.

I told her that 8 of us were going to float with her for a few hours.

I asked that this float may leave us all better than when we began.

I asked that this float leave her better after we completed our journey.

I prayed that there be some medicine to be found on this sunny June afternoon together.

I prayed for protection and safety.

“I trust you” I whispered.

This interaction left me feeling good,

connected,

safe.

So we began.

All of us climbing onto our vessels;

my partner and I sharing a stand up paddle board.

We all giggled and we gently floated along,

screams of excitement echoing through the trees as we navigated some minor rapids.

At one point I stood up on the paddle board,

testing my balance.

That’s when I fell in,

completely submerging myself into her cold glacier waters,

and taking my partner with me.

We all laughed watching this fumble.

I guess I wasn’t going to have that intentional emergence that I had pictured in my mind.

We continue on,

traversing the rocks, fallen trees, and river banks —

splashing one another every so often.

Our paddle board was ahead of everyone else and we found ourself reaching the end of the float rather quickly.

That’s when things got chaotic.

We made a wrong turn and got stuck amongst the jagged trees that had long since fallen over,

the strength of the rivers currents smashing us against the sharp wood,

capsizing us.

After regaining control of our vessel,

we capsized again

this time with the paddle board pushing us down beneath the cold water,

dragging us along the rough terrain.

Once we were out of the danger zone,

and finally pulled ourselves aboard we managed to make our way to safety.

One paddle in hand,

one forever lost — floating downstream,

and me gripping the back of the board, kicking, trying my best to help us reach our river bank destination.

Cold and a tad shaken up,

we stood on the rocks looking at the river —

Once again I noticed these thoughts coming to the surface,

“I prayed to you for protection,

I trusted you —

what the hell?!”

And almost telepathically I could feel the spirit of the River respond…

“Beautiful one,

You trusted me to be what you wanted, not what I am.

I am the glaciers, oceans, rivers, and rain —

I am wild,

unpredictable.

You asked me to be something I am not,

and while I can do many things,

I cannot do that.

You asked for protection and safety —

and here you stand.

You prayed for medicine,

so here it is.

You placed your trust in me,

and to trust is to know the truth of where you offer it.

I am water,

capable of both sustaining life

and taking it.

Nurturing

and destructive.

To trust in me

is to trust in birth and death.

To know that we are all

wild

unpredictable

and shrouded in mystery.

Believe that we are who we say we are.”

— And then she was silent.

The river,

much like the sign of Scorpio,

can be both light

and dark;

playful

and dangerous…

while always being woven in mystery.

Birth and death are no different.

Sometimes easeful,

other times traumatic,

always unknown.

Circumstances can change drastically with

one

wrong

turn.

To surrender,

is to trust;

and to trust,

is to know the truth of that which you offer it to.

From that day forward, I no longer felt betrayed by the water.

For she has always been exactly who she is —

who she has always claimed to be,

no pretence,

no mask,

just honesty

and so full of medicine.