Transparent Eyeball into Profundity

It feels like a river, running, gurgling, clear as that stream at the base of Mt. Katadhn, transparent to the point that I had to touch the water, four feet deep, to be sure that it was there, sending rings out from where I touched the surface, marring its tranquility. And like a noisy river, it chatters over rocks and its swirls around bends with light, like shafts of diamonds, streaming off in all directions, an intense, pure white. It is hard to behold, flashing brilliantly. No gem cutter could possibly compete with nature in this regard, myriad facets ricocheting off in a trillion different ways. I find this river in the quiet, often while driving early in the morning. It awakens then, and my thoughts flow. I want a pad, a tape recorder, a direct drive from inside to something tacticle and discernable. It beckoned me coming back from New York to Providence on the interstate hours before the dawn, each sign and sensation evoking dozens upon dozens of past memories, some building and others collapsing into a template, filled with feelings and people who are often no longer. In a way, it is just like being in heaven, where we meet deparated souls we have encountered along life's path as well as in the imagination, regardless of the fact that they may be long gone. This is like a mythical river in Hades, a tributary of forgetulness or remembrances. I see old and fantastic times, triggered by the faintest vision in the rear view mirror, or the sun rising in the East, or the power of accelerating through a bloodstream of humanity, passing and being passed. Today, at this precise moment, we are on this planet together. Tomorrow, who knows? Some of us will be gone, some forgotten, apart from and part of the flow, the river of Time. No matter who we are, we will fish here for a little or a longer while. I am filled with awe; this river is also my river of salvation andd my redemption. Much is expected of one who has been given so much.