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TITLE: River
By CK B
06/23/08
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I was wondering how clear this piece is, as to does it give a confusing picture at any time. Any comments appreciated.
It starts as a minute particle, a speck really, nondescript, formless, weightless, randomly moving through the atmosphere. This minuscule fragment will come in contact with another formless particle, then another, shortly there will be enough for a molecule. The molecule will join itself to another, then another, and then another until a new compound, water is formed. This shapeless compound will sometimes spend its being in an airy shape other times, its hard icy form, cold, biting, forcing its way roam the unknown regions. At other times it will take its fluid state.
This little bead, liquid, joins another and another, then another, when there is enough they form a force, a creek, a stream, a river. This river noiselessly meanders its way downward, its destination unknown to itself, but a glorious end is felt within every minute part. Slowly it begins to build, to rush, expanding in size, the earsplitting reverberation mounting.
Gradually, it increases in power, it carries more than just the light weight dirt and loose gravel from the banks, this moving body begins to carry heavier burdens, rocks, trees, soon nothing can stand against its power. The individual tiny drops of water have now collided into one massive destination, the ocean. Individually they could do nothing; together they formed a massive power that has to be obeyed by all in its path. Yet, even this great power bows to that of another. The power of gravity, weighs itself superior to that of the rushing body, gravity pulls the water to its destination. It gives the river its potency only with the strength and constant pull and guidance of gravity, does the river have its course and its life.
This is how I see myself as a writer. The droplets of water are the words that flow from within my mind. These individuals that together sometimes form a thought or some coherent sentence, but still need each other to form into something greater, into an idea, they donít need my help, but with their own life they form, move, breath and bond. Once this has occurred I cannot stand in their path, I become swept away and a part of the truth that they reveal. I have no choice but to put the words down on paper, to describe every drop, to allow them to stand together regardless of what stands in the way, whether it is me, or a truth that is now found to be false.
The power that pulls these words down to their destination, this power is God Himself. It is He who creates these words that form within me. It is He who pulls them together, gives them life and existence. It is He who brings them together to form the truth of what He is doing in my life and with in my heart. It is His truth which He reveals through the circumstances that occur in and around me; I have no choice but to bow to both these powers. I am the river, the tool used to serve a higher purpose, just as the river must bend its course to the authority of gravity. So too must I bend my knee to Him, so He may communicate a larger glory, not mine, but His - the Author and Perfector of the writings that are created within me. The words are His; my life is His.

CKB
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