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Tales of the river lek (1)
ASKING PERMISSION OF THE LEK
I came to the river with a longing question in my heart.
Not simply to sit beside it, but to ask something more delicate:
whether I might be allowed to know this being,
whether this river would permit me to return here
and sit in meditation and curiosity along its edge.
With a feeling of anxiety, I walked down the path toward the water, carrying this silent request.
A sign stood there, telling visitors that dogs were free to run loose. Immediately a small uncertainty moved through me. I wondered if this was truly a place where I could be vulnerable.
As I continued along the path, a loose dog appeared and approached me, like a reflection of myself, it looked at me in a strange and uncertain way. For a moment I questioned whether this place could hold a safe place which I have been seeking. Perhaps the river was telling me that this was not the right place for my practice.
But then something shifted
Two ducks lifted from the edge of the path and flew away from a quieter corner, the other way from the place where the dog had wandered. Their movement felt like a gentle invitation.
So I followed in that direction, stepping away from the path and toward a more hidden place.
There, the atmosphere felt different, it carried the songs of birds, and the land seemed to hold a deeper calm. Standing there, still feeling anxious, there was a subtle sense that perhaps this place might receive me after all.
Just then the rain began to fall.
It came softly and warm, as though the river itself had answered my question. The rain felt like a gesture of welcome, as if the river were saying:
"With my water, I embrace you. I know that you find this moment a little daunting. So I let you first meet me in this gentle way, so our barrier of discomfort may be washed away."
It was as though the river understood the hesitation I carried and gifted me the rain as a way of meeting me, helping me get out of my thoughts, into my body, and truly being into this moment.
In return, I caught some raindrops in my hand and offered it back to the river as a small gift, a sign of respect and willingness to meet the river as a living being.
When I watched the water, I saw how the rain touched the surface. Each drop did not disappear immediately into the river. Instead, the drops danced for a moment upon the skin of the water, bouncing lightly before finally becoming part of the whole.
It felt like a profound teaching.
You may arrive here, the river seemed to say, but becoming part of a place takes time. Return often, just like the rain does, and slowly you will come to know me.
With other eyes, I watched again more deeply to the water’s skin, I noticed flouting bubbles on the surface. They rose but I couldn’t find their source. Whenever I looked closely at one place, the bubbles appeared somewhere else.
Again it felt like a message. Where the river seemed to whisper:
"I have many secrets. Come often and maybe I will reveal them in my own time."
When the realization of this deeply personal encounter took root within me, I sat on a stone in the river, still wearing my boots, simply allowing myself to be present, surrounded by its water.
And as if the moment had reached its gentle completion, the rain stopped, and the sun came out, laying its light softly on both our skins, while the coots clearly agreed, with their sharp call echoing across the river.
Michelle van der Vegt
Mindfulness gids en ecoloog
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