The River Called Denial

Being a participant in several heavy conversations lately, has left me longing to set sail on the river named, Denial. I haven't had my Just 10 time. It's hard to find the calm center. My children and the dog have spent the last few days following me around the house, talking. Oh, how they can talk. While I am very glad they like to talk to me, today I wish I could appreciate their words. I cannot. I'm suffering from a severe case of chatter overload. I have temporarily lost the ability to listen. I need my thinking time. Just 10, take me away.

Sometimes, shutting out the world is necessary. Especially, when the "world has been too much with us soon and late." I set sail on the Denial river like Huck Finn set sail on the Mississippi. Sooner or later, I'll come back home. I know this river well. I know it's name, it's currents, it's eddies. I recognize all the landmarks as I float by on my raft. Using an old pole to steer, I hug the shore. Young and tan, no concern for appearances, the world is full of potential. I leave care behind. I am free.

There on the raft, I leave the shore and head for the center of the river. This old river gently carries my raft in its currents. I lay down under the summer sky. I watch the clouds drift overhead. Cloud threads trace my path as I float below. I fall into a deep and lazy sleep.

Slowly, I awake to the distant sound of a sternwheeler, churning up the river. I understand that the time of floating free is now over. It's time to head back to safer waters. I dive off the raft and swim toward the closest bank. I saw a town a few miles back. It will be a good place to hitch a ride home.

Return home, I must. Problems await, noise, chatter, other people's needs, my own. These things define me. I am lost without them. As much as I want to run away forever, to sail on this strange, yet familiar river, I know that my days of sailing are numbered. After all, even Huck didn't float forever. He was bound by a story. A beginning, a middle and an end gave him being, substance, if only in the mind of a reader. In my mind, he is as real as my river called Denial. They both have their place. I need them both in my life. Huck to inspire me, to capture truths about human existence in subtle and delightful ways. And my river, Denial? It has its purpose, too. It helps me cope. It suspends reality and the heavy burden of problems, for just a while. They'll be waiting for me when I return to shore. Sometimes, when I least expect it, under a pale blue sky, in that lazy river, solutions fall like rain. I love this old river. It has served me well.