no one arrives

I am tentative today, mindful of emotionalism and too many tears. I don’t want that again, but the point is to tell the truth about what happens here, and some days, I am waterworks.

The rower took us to the mouth of a cave. He waits on the raft behind me. A stream runs through the cave, and several trickles of water rush in from above. I peer inside. It is dark, and I don’t have the right equipment to explore. 

Through the pangs of indecision, I remember here is the one place I don’t have to decide. I am Here and I am Listening. I can watch and wait.

I look back. No one is there. In the outer world, this is where I would be afraid, but here, it doesn’t seem necessary or correct to be. Who would harm me here?

I put out a silent thought for whoever else to show up. 

I am shoeless now, and my feet are in the stream. It is ice cold. My feet are blue, but I’m not shivering. For the first time ever, I get to experience cold without being cold.

I squat and dunk my hands in the water too, and they’re nearly frozen as well. But I am not cold. I crouch like this for a while, waiting for someone to join me or talk to me.

Only the water speaks in its hiccups and treble notes. What is its message? I want it to get to the point. I am not supposed to, but I strain for words and receive none. I only feel the cold on my feet and my hands. 

No one arrives. It’s just me and the stream. 

I wait and I listen. 

Eventually, I understand — being in the water is the point.

No one comes, there is no message, but I was in the water. Sometimes my time in the water is enough.