Water is magical. I don’t think there can be any doubt about that. It has the power to give life: as the broth of the Primordial Soup; the cushioning fluid that holds us in the womb; and as a key element of our biological processes. Water also has the power to destroy: it rages as tsunamis and floods, and it dissolves nearly everything it touches, whether that is be done quickly or slowly. It is a force of existence, simultaneously holding the keys to life and to death.
I work in my Craft with the Celtic river goddess, Danu (also known as Dana, Dôn, and Down). Like the water itself, I have found Danu to be life-giving, refreshing, inspiring, and continually in process of change, flow, and refinement. I’m very blessed to have Brewery Creek running through my backyard, and the goddess sometimes calls me to its bank to be in its presence and to listen to its wisdom.
As I sat beside Brewery Creek this week, I noticed my heart stir. It has been a busy, busy time for me with work, school, and other projects. This seems fitting as we head into spring, when the world around us is waking up and full of that “let’s get going” energy. And yet, the creek–cascading as it was–stirred my heart to sit, to appreciate witnessing rather than joining the flow, and to be companioned by the silence that watches and simply is.
I invite you into that space with me. I invite you to be–to be stirred to silence amidst the springtime bustle.
I sit by the creek
And I pause
To listen to her
What is it within her waves,
Within the ripples
That sit atop her face
And brush the rocks hugging the bank?
What is it within the trickling water
From the fresh snow melting?
What is it within her
That stirs the silence in me?
Looking upon the damp blanket
Of greens and whites and browns.
The wind brushes her cheeks
The leaves cover her forehead
And her softly churning beauty
In a world of spring
Where the sun warms and the birds begin to sing,
O, how we are called to speak!
How we are called to exclaim!
And what is it about her
That stirs me to silence?
If it wasn’t for the gentle ripples
The hushed cascades over the rocks
Muted by the mosses and caught by the pools below
How I would forget my humanity.
O, if it wasn’t for her song so gently whispered
How would I forget my connection,
The times of turning
And the times of reflection.
Spring calls to me and says,
“Rise, O soul, rise!”
And yet I am stilled by her bank
And I hear: “Sit, O soul sit.”
“There are many things to do
But many more things to be
Let me stir the silence in you
So you can be, even for a moment,
Just with me.”