Gratitude for the Present

Rivers imprint my life. Everywhere I’ve lived in eight decades has been near a river: the Muddy Mo, the Connecticut River, the Great Miami, the St. Croix, the Mississippi. Today I want to use the image of a river to share with you my thoughts on living in the present.

I think of my life as a river. It began in the tranquil lake of my mother’s womb. From there, it has flowed through the Land of Time on its way to the welcome of the Ocean of Eternity. The journey of that river, which is my life, has a history—past, present, future.

In the past, the river of myself met rapids that clashed against large boulders. Often, they blocked my way forward. Overarching willow branches shadowed the river of myself. Storms raged; bitter rain fell into the flow, which ended dammed in the Land of Past Time. Unable to flow forward and find the course beckoning me, I grew stagnant in that dam.

When the dam burst, I rushed forward, a waterfall plunging into the lake below. I then began to live in the Land of Future Time—always leaping the rapids, creating mercurial currents that hurtled forward to get somewhere, anywhere, perhaps to the rainbow’s promise.

Now, because of a deep gratitude that brightens my days, I flow gently, caught up in the moment that the Land of Presence unfolds for me. By day, I bask in the sun’s rays; by night in the moon’s beams. I flow past field and forest, valley and canyon. Each of these bring some gift into the river of my life. Deep within my current, I embrace the moment as it is given to me.

And that, I suppose, is what makes living in the present so rewarding. In this moment, I find that which is a blessing in my life. Gratitude springs within me like the many springs that enter the river of my life. Fresh spring water trickles into the stream of my flow. So many springs throughout so many miles of Time. So much, so many for whom to be grateful.

Living in gratitude, I have discovered, is the surest way to live in the present. Right now, I have a mug of steeping Earl Grey tea nearby; warm slippers on my feet; light from the table lamp; no Meniere’s headache; no arthritic pain. For all this I am grateful.

And if there were pain, what would it matter? My body is giving me a message: Rest. Take your prescription. Be calm. In this moment, I stop and listen. The Holy Oneness of All Creation gives me these posting words, one word after the other, surprising me, enlightening me. All is well. And all shall be well in the future. I need not worry. The river has flowed through all the landscapes of time and still it flows, undaunted.

Is its mouth around the next bend? At the end of the next valley? I do not know. I do not need to know. I know only that in this Land of Present Time I have today to write the Amazon blurb for the convent memoir—Prayer Wasn’t Enough. Daily, the river of my life flows into the unknown route ahead. The future. I do the work of the moment. This day.

I need only, as so many say, “Go with the flow.” Or as the Beatles said, “Let it be.”  I need only embrace this moment. And so I do.

Peace.