Healing Waters

Sitting on my balcony at Riversleigh, watching its namesake course beneath me……

Healing Waters

Where I live, there are no great rivers, no meandering behemoths, lush with green banks and teaming with fish; no rivers sacred like the Nile, no rivers pulsing with eternal life according to Revelation, no River Styx marking the boundaries between life and death.

Where I live, the river beds are dry and trash-strewn, their concrete walls tagged with grafitti art and choked with weeds bursting through the cracks in the cement,

except……

when winter rainstorms sweep from the north, then the channels rage with torrents of boiling, gray swill, drawing the flood waters from the streets, and pouring the city’s filth into the bay.

On these days, I am reminded of the human condition: we turn dry and choked with all manner of negative thoughts and bad behavior until the storms of life churn us up, clean us out and bring healing to our souls.
So the next time I drive the freeway over an uninspiring river bed, I look to the horizon for storm clouds and wait for the healing waters.

Text and image: Lori Gloyd © April 17, 2006