Please Don’t Go

Here on the banks of the Stillwater River, it’s time to face another sweet goodbye. I’m sad. Life is a series of arrivals and departures. Even though some departures are temporary, I’m reminded of that old saying: You can never step in the same river twice. It may look and sound like the same river, offering familiar cool waters on a hot day. But don’t be fooled. Those waters are both ancient and new. They’ve been solid, liquid, and gas. They’ve been everywhere, and they will be back. They know you only in passing, and you know them not at all.

The root of the word stagnation is “standing water.” Generally, no one loves stagnation. It’s associated with nasty smells, writer’s block, mosquitoes, and economic slowdowns. But where would we be without stagnation? Growth for growth’s sake is a hallmark of cancer. Standing water is a temporary relief, a foreboding surface. When I lean over in the evening light, I see the outlines of the devil and the divine.

“So, I’m glacier, ocean, cloud, and cesspool,” the Divine says. “Ironic.”

“Ironic,” I agree. “I don’t like the status quo, and I don’t like change. I don’t like leaving and I don’t like staying.”

“Well, then, I’ve got some good news for you. I never leave and I never stay. At the galactic level, the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“But I’m not currently galactic,” I remind the Unchanging Change. “And your cute colloquialisms are not helpful.”

“I love you more than your parents did,” The She of the Universe says. “I love you more than you love yourself. More than your partner, children, grandmother, chickens, or dogs.”

I do a doubletake. What brought this on? Was I asking for love?

“Don’t act so surprised,” The She smiles. “You’re always asking. And I understand. Relinquishing is not your forte. You need a lot of reassurance.”

Sometimes being known so definitively and casually makes me feel oppositional. Feisty.

“But what about that poster with the cat clinging to the screen door?” I argue. “The one that says Hang in there, baby?”

“Seriously? You want to live your life based on guidance from posters?” The She asks. “Besides, the cat doesn’t look all that happy, does it?”

“No,” I admit. “It looks frantic. But what’s the alternative?”

“Letting go, of course. Cats usually land gracefully on their paws. The problem is more about screens and tangled claws than a short, clean, fall.”

I withdraw my fingernails, drop into the arms of the waiting ground, and wave goodbye. I hope for many happy returns, but nothing is guaranteed.