The River Violet

photo (66)

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.

photo (5)

Diana Ray/April Aronoff

Photography by Diana Ray

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