Early morning at the Riverside

Immediately after awakening I knew that a new dawn was calling me. Over and in Carlsheaven the shadows of the night were still pending between the sleeping houses and buildings. Here and there lanterns were still burning. I stood on the veranda happily inhaling the fresh morning air. Blossoms whitening up everywhere all through the greens and browns of the Weser hillside forest.

After bringing Her tea I put on my mountain shoes. Knowing that the riverside meadows would be wet. And silently I started this brand new early morning walk down to the westbound riverside. Smiling I saw some childrens street drawings in coloured chalk: a big broad smiling sun, a laughing moon with sleep bonnet on. The artists themselves still travelling in their dreamworlds upstairs.

With a feeling of deep calm, happiness and gratitude, I followed my way down to the river. The tide being rather low, I sat on a riverstone for quite a while, felt the singing humm rising from below. What an amazing experience: this IS and will forever BE the place or habitat of our destination. That means also that we will less frequently have our stay at the seaside of our life.

After leaving the stone I made todays photo. May the composition and colouring of this riverside experience express the serenity from which we have already found the basic perspectives and and meaningful directions for taking to hand our new life centered here in Carlsheaven. With your eyes you can see upstream into the misty distance. Knowing that Following the Way will always mean going with the downstream flow.

I followed my way over the stony riverside South-Eastbound, crossed the central camping site and took again a long pause sitting on the Cormorants stone. That English Voice which was already rising silently from my belly started to sing its Fisherfriends song. The Riverspirit gurgled with sovereign satisfaction. Smiling I looked upstream. Beyond the Turning there, nothing special was happening.

No Mysty Dragon over the river, No White headed Boreas to discern in the grey clouded sky and beyond the Turning? Nobody knows what’s going on there. We can only reach towards the Nothingness of the Beyond. We can only Be in touch with the unknowable Rhythms of infinite Change, sourcing over there and then flowing downstream, always in different waves and whirlings. How wonderful, the Voice was singing again. I stood up and walked home.