Meet me where the River bends.
Let’s walk along its winding path and not talk or think about anything. There is just the River and us, and we go as the River goes. The River can do the talking and thinking for us, with its loud splish splash that seems to tempt you into uttering something, something you were thinking of—but you don’t, because right now, we are not talking or thinking anything at all.
See, there, the River says. There, my waves crash like cymbals that sort of miss and catch each other’s edge. There, the green and brown fall into my depths and dance in my darkness, hiding as well as a flashy peacock in my shadows. There, the yellow and orange wrinkle across my surface and dance in my light, with the shyness of the cicada’s summertime song.
Perhaps, there the River is churning. Perhaps, the Earth is shifting. Perhaps, the Sun has made her appearance. Perhaps, the Stars have all already died. Perhaps, the Sky has fallen. Or perhaps, the world is completely and utterly alive. But, we wouldn’t know, of course. We are not talking nor thinking today, right now, right here. With that said, to us, anything could be happening.
See, there, the River says. There, it comes to an end.
Perhaps, it does, but, of course, we wouldn’t know.
You met me where the River bent, and we bent this way and that with the river. But, you were on one side, and I, the other. When I at last met the ocean that the river opened to, you were no longer with me. We had done so much of the no talking and no thinking that I did not notice you slip away on the other side and disappear as the river widened and the water turned crystal clear.
I wanted to shout your name. I wanted to wonder where you went. But, today, we weren’t talking nor thinking. Today, for some reason—a reason you probably came up with—all of that led me here, surrounded by some disgustingly-clear water I somehow could not see through.
The River was all around and nowhere, so I started walking upstream. The River clashed beside me, seemingly faster now that I was venturing opposite to its course; it was getting faster. I started to run.
See, there, the River said. There is something up ahead of you, or perhaps back behind you—however you see it.
But, I don’t ask what it is, and I don’t mentally explore the possibilities myself. I run faster in the ear-splitting silence. It’s heavy and painful.
“Meet m—” No, there’s no talking.
Perhaps, I shouldn’t h—No, there’s no thinking.
See, there, the River said. There is someone waiting for you where the River bends.
And that’s why I asked you to meet me where the River bends.
