The River Violet
I walked upon the River Violet one day and sat down.
Its flow was soft, slow, beckoning,
it’s water catching sunbeams
in a beautiful crystalized purple,
turning everything that ran through
the most luminous shades of periwinkle and lilac,
its violaceous essence pulling and drawing me near,
like a bird song so lovely it tugs at the heart string,
and slowly I step in.
My toes turn to lavender as its waters gently tumble past,
a tingling heat spreading despite the sharp, brisk flow,
and I see ahead an eddy,
its swirls an image of something familiar but can’t recall,
and like a purple blue magnet it summons me,
until I am peering into its deepness.
What I see makes me gasp.
Fire, Violet Fire, beneath this waters depth!
Amythist flames rising and falling,
like its very own breath taking in liquid air,
a lava lamp of pure purple,
mixing water and flame and impossibility,
and the summoning grows loud and strong
till it is rushing in my ears,
its fever rising like a river after a storm,
until I cannot escape it,
and I jump in.
Heat all around me
devouring yet surging,
like the womb of the Goddess
I turn and spin in her blazing fetal fluid,
melting away pain
melting away attachment
melting away all that I have clung to
for fear of the unknown,
like a rough stone turned to smoothness,
its touch evoking the very essence of grace,
its cloudy veneer replaced with mercy,
its solid molecules becoming supple and soft,
and like a seed whose cycle
has sprouted and died and sprouted again
I am Reborn.
Diana Ray/April Aronoff
Photography by Diana Ray