Waterfalls

I recently discovered a new waterfall (Mill Creek Falls), or actually the merging of two waterfalls. I did not discover it in the sense that I could lay claim and give it my name: Tamara Falls (that is a depressing name anyway).  I discovered it in the sense that I became aware of its existence. And what does it care if little me perceives it or not? It is busy with its chaos, its power, the constant work of shaping the stone trying to impede it. It wildly propels itself into the depths, never stopping, but finding a means to eventually get where it will go. I sat on a rock by the raging waters, stuck my hands in the water and felt all of the unbridled energy of its freedom. Its voice fluid cacophony, its body pure violence, and I wanted more of it all, as I think most people do. 
    Just a few days ago I visited another waterfall. It is nameless, but I know its exact spot, and I have hiked there many times. Each year it flows differently. The first year I visited it, I was with Joshua. The waters trickled leaving a calm crevice of clear water to jump into. My fear froze me, and while Joshua had jumped into the inviting waters, I stood on the ledge nurturing my fear. “Come on, I made it safely. It feels so good,” Joshua coaxed me with soft words and a big smile. I did overcome my fear and jump in after many, many minutes, but this is not about fear. It is the memory that holds weight. I still see his smile in this memory, and I remember the laughter. I hear it ringing off the granite, and I feel the cool water surrounding my body. Those were intimate moments in which his voice still remains clear. A year later, I went to that same spot and released his ashes into the waters, so he could be forever a part of its beauty and vitality. I needed that. He was not dead yet in my mind. It was not a reality in which I could conceive.  Every year after that, I have gone back and the waters have been raging. Each year the journey to the falls and the falls itself means something different to me. This time, I felt the mist on my face and knew that the water told a story of a time past, a wild love, a youth full of impetuosity. I saw how I loved Joshua with abandon, how every passion in me had been awoken in our time together. It was dumb and young and beautiful, and I was so happy that I got to experience such wild freedom (even if there were costs along the way). 
I know a different reality now. I strive to live fully, freely, and fluidly; but I also practice more restraint; my path is not so violent.  I know the force of an action. I know the hurt of being completely free; I know that those who love me would be propelled down stream in my frothing waters. Perhaps the reason people are so in love with waterfalls is that they can feel a wildness that can only be a reality to the selfish child, and they yearn for the simplicity and magic of unabashed youth. That is why I still dip my fingers in the waterfall’s crashing chaos.
                                                     Mill Creek Falls                                                                 

                                            Sitting at the top of Mill Creek Falls

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