There is a river that runs, that carries the overflow from the water table, the excess from wells; the same water that runs through our bodies. There is a community and belonging that lies in the water: in our bodies, in our wells, and the river.
The river, this flow of life and grace and disruption.
The river is another metaphor for the Divine and our communion with it as we come to discover our True Selves. It is the journey of Arkitekt.
As a facilitator, I don’t have anything mastered, I certainly don’t have it controlled but I’ve been in the river before. I’ve had the swell roll over my head. I’ve felt the tumult of my carefully crafted life, (it was practically an algebra equation) break into pieces and become flotsam. But, I’ve felt the renewal, the sense of being carried, and most powerfully, my beautiful sisters in the water with me. They are allowing the river to move the same way: through, around and over them.
I see myself standing in the river, just about knee deep, holding out my hand for my sister. I know this river is wild, it’s dangerous to my sense of safety and destroys my ego.
Sister, let me show you where to step in.
This is the good news. It is for all. It is wide and expansive and more than capable of washing, carrying, and holding all of us. It is wide and expansive and possessed by none of us, in fact, it possesses us.
In the scripts we’re given of the roles we are told to play, we lose sight of the river. Instead of this quenching expanse, we are told it is a tiny way. This life is small, this “god” is small, there is just enough for some. We are handed scarcity. We’re told we’ve got a cup of water and that’s it. It’s not enough. It will never be enough. We are not enough. So we divide and “other” each other. We differentiate ourselves. We make sure we know who we are better than. We are made to think that’s the only guarantee of making it through this dry landscape.
The work of Arkitekt has shown me that’s a false story. Our reality is so much better.
The women that have been doused in the river know we were made for the river. At the river, we can come as we are. And you can come as you are.
So my place is in the river. I hold out my hand and invite my sisters.
I can not guarantee this river’s safety but I can tell of you of the bright thresholds of rebirth the river has brought forth.
I can tell you that the river swirls and dances about and through us with a specific delight.
It will bury, it will rebirth.
I trust this river, this place of space for both/and.
It is flow of contradictions: of thirst and drowning, blessing and destruction, peace and torrent, it will do the work of burying and birthing.
Step down into the river, my sister, let me show you where to put your feet.
This work is not easy, it can be dark and frightening but it’s no longer lonely.
My work daily, as a sister, is to remind myself that I’m already in the water. We’re all already in the water. I stand in expectation and delight at the river.