The River in My Veins

I woke up before sunrise and hiked to the hot springs in the canyon not far from my house. Fresh air invigorated my lungs as the boundary between myself and the earth dissipated.

I arrived at the water’s edge just as the sun was making her debut. As I stepped into the river, I slipped and cut my toe on the rocks below. My flesh throbbed under the water’s surface. I pulled my foot out of the water to inspect the damage and saw red fluid dripping from my veins before dissolving into the river. It was only a drop or two, but it was enough. With just a few beads of blood, I became part of the river and tasted her power.

The river didn’t stop flowing because I foolishly cut my toe. The rocks didn’t apologize for their sharp edges. The springs didn’t ask if the temperature was to my liking. The canyon didn’t apologize for harboring the culprit of my suffering in the depths of her yonic crevice. The water didn’t flinch when I moaned out in pain.

I pressed both hands firmly on the bolder nestled in the steamy river and hoisted myself out of the water. In that moment the earth spoke to me. She whispered, “I do not apologize for existing, and neither do you.”

I left the canyon that morning with my blood in the river and the river in my veins.