A River

 “No man ever steps in the same river twice for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”  (Heraclitus, c. 540-480 BCE)

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”  (Norman Maclean, 1902—1990)

Recently, Sue and I were at a show featuring Beatle’s music.  The familiar songs took me back to my youth, until I looked around at the audience and saw mostly silver-haired old people.  Reflexively, I questioned why a bunch of old people would want to be sitting here listening to rock music.  I had to remind myself that I too was a silver-haired old person, and I was listening to music that is now almost 60 years old. I am no longer that youth rocking to the new tunes of Paul, John, George, and Ringo.  I am a different person, living in a different body, in a different time.

I was once young . . . no longer. I was once a child, then a camp counselor, then a graduate student and bachelor . . . no longer.  There is much I once was that I am no longer.

My life is not without continuity. My DNA remains unchanged. There are aspects of my temperament and personality that I’ve carried with me from youth.  And I have memories, the blocks upon which I construct a continuous narrative of my life.

Yet, I am not who I once was.  I look differently than I once did.  I see differently than I once did.  I hear differently than I once did.  I read and understand differently than I once did.  I think differently. I experience my emotions differently.  I relate to others differently.   I behave differently.  I believe differently. There is much I am, that I was not before.

 

I am old,

With vestiges of a boy

I once was.

 

I am a river

From rains, springs, and rivulets,

Past, present, future.

 

Where flows the river?

To the ocean

Or to oblivion.

 

Good poetry or bad?  I don’t know enough to judge the difference, but I find solace and perhaps some wisdom in the metaphor of the river.  “Dat ol’ man river . . . he keeps on rollin’ along.” The river is continuous, and yet ever-changing.  The river is timeless . . . past, present, and future all contained within.  Along its course, the river both shapes the landscape and is guided by the landscape. The river grows from the rains, the springs, and the rivulets, and the river gives back its life-sustaining water.  I struggle a bit with the implication that the course of my life, like the river, flows downhill, yet I accept that life must flow to its destination.  And then the river merges into one.