This thin, white haired, old man slowly makes his way along the shimmering riverbank, and he looks about as rickety as his long walking stick. Smooth and wide flat rocks cover the bottom of the riverbed and the water has a compelling rhythm and lovely low gurgle.
The old man tells me that the river was once his beautiful lover; but now, on this planet, in this dimension, she is every river that flows across the earth, including this one. He mourns that she is now in love with the earth rather than being devoted to him. I wonder what else they have been and where else have they existed?
As he tells me how she contains all of the wisdom of the ages and places through which she has flowed, the old man leans forward, and takes a long drink from the river. Transforming into a bald eagle, he flies up to perch on a huge bolder that sits on the hillside above the river bank. I hike on.
Further on up the trail I see him again and he tells me that the river is the earth’s juiciness and has its beginning in an underground source. He invites me to join him in the deep hidden source.