A Separation Of Life

  • Category: American History
  • Words: 849
  • Grade: 100
Water, the median of life. Growing up

in a small town nestled tightly in the arms of the wasatch

front, I learned early the importance of nature. There was a

fine line drawn between religion and the outdoors, and the

quest of my life was to determine an appropriate balance.

Water, signifying the line between the spiritual and physical,

played an important role in my secular teachings. Cutting

through the center of town it was the very phenomenon that

I had grown to love, the river. Soul restored and

imagination stirred, the words of the river echoed the marks

of God. Although by nature I stood alone, untutored and

untouched, the waters of life left me free to understand the

natural side of God's order. With its flowing properties and

unbridled passion to move forward, the water was my

spirit. An old weathered palm tree emerged from the

seemingly impenetrable sandy beach. I leaned back against

its rough surface as the waves of the emerald blue ocean

slowly crawled to my feet. They lapped relentlessly against

the shore as if trying to take me back with them. The wind

blew gently over the top of the distant incoming waves as

they mirrored back the competing rays of sun. With each

reflection, I narrowly squinted my eyes and continued to

marvel at this picturesque interaction of color and beauty. I

raised my hand to my brow, wiping off the beads of sweat

that saturated my face. As my fingers moved across my

sensitive skin, I could tell the sun had left its mark. I felt

their was no escaping the blanket of rays only the clouds

above seemed to be able to control. The pain was

uncomfortable, but disappeared quickly as I scooped up

the cool water and splashed it on my face. I knew that I

could not drink the seemingly infinite volume of water which

surrounded me, so I headed for a nearby stream. Kneeling

down, I penetrated the stream with cupped hands and

raised the fresh water to my dry lips. I was unable to

control the water as it sifted through my fingers and ran

down my arms, as if trying to escape back to the stream. I

licked my salty lips and drank. I had never before tasted a

more refreshing drink of water. This euphoric experience

was one that I savored, as I reached for a second handful.

There have been few experiences throughout my life that I

remember more vividly than of that day on the beach. I

often think about where the water would flow, and who

would be the recipient of its aqueous forgiveness. This

simple stream had been the solution to my unquenchable

need for sustenance. My connection, as if umbilical, was

met when I broke the skin of mother natures body to

partake of her life giving substance. But, something

separated me from that world which existed internally

beneath the stream. This was the first spiritual encounter I

remembered having with water. The thoughts of these

experiences connected my inner most soul with the

interaction of beauty and nature. Not a nature that I fully

understood , but an understanding of the line that connects

the perfection of life to a spiritual world. Eventually all

things merged into one, and I would understand both

physical and spiritual, but until then I would be left

untutored. All existence seems to fade into a being.

Memories past and present, would leave with them

impressions of the future. These memories always brought

me back to the river which cut through my town, and the

water which had brought me closer to the line of spirituality.

The blanket of life stretched across the valley as the wind

blew calmly over the tops of the trees. I fastened my khaki

green bag to my shoulder as I slowly released the tension

of my line sending the small hook end over end into the

water. The occasional silver flash of light broke through the

undercurrent of water as I pulled my hook over the rocks

and twigs that extended through the river body. Fishing was

something that I enjoyed more than anything. I had spent

much of my growing up years slipping on the rocks that

lined the bottom of this river bed like mosaic tiles. Although

it had been quite some time since I had visited "the river",

the smooth sound of the water as it meandered by

welcomed me back. As the sun beat down, racing its way

through the trees, I was reminded of the experiences I had

with the stream before. Taking the fresh cool water and

dripping it down my neck, I realized what draws me to

these majestic places. To understand this barrier of life, a

barrier that separated me from this underworld of water. I

stood on the outside trying to pull some piece of intricate

life from this world I knew nothing about. Motivated to

understand this spiritual nature, the worlds converged into

one, a world of life. The simple existence of the stream

brought the very compulsive questions that caused me to

wonder. Just as I didn't understand its exact purpose

thousands of miles away, or even one hundred yards up

stream, I knew its effect on me here and now would leave

its impression. Running over rocks, squeezing though

cracks, and providing the essential elements of life were the

unwavering properties of the water. Although interacting

with its surroundings for just a moment, the river would

leave its mark, carrying on its way of life, never knowing

where it would end, or if it ever ended.
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