I've been chasing waterfalls
ain't been listening to no rivers and/or lakes either
They say you shouldn’t go chasing waterfalls.
And by ‘they,’ I don’t just mean TLC.
But the rumors are true. I’ve been chasing waterfalls for years.
For at least a decade now, in fact, I go searching somewhere across this green, green country for bodies of water of a very specific kind.
Well. Let me not exaggerate. Though, yes, I do spend hours researching prior to this semiannual trip. Hours exploring the comment section in AllTrails, the Google reviews that promise serene, watery locale.
Then I travel, often around my birthday, like weeks ago, deep into lush green forestry with an air of cautionary optimism, ears perked for flowing water.
Yet that sound, my friends, never comes. And so here I was once again, this past annual celebration of my birth, searching. Wanting…
Why, you might ask, am I so hopelessly drawn to waterfalls? Am I but a foolish allegory for unmet desire? Perpetually seeking unattainable beauty and constantly left wanting? Perhaps.
There’s not a time in my life I’ve not been drawn to waterfalls.
Something about that continuous flow of a thing we all need as it moves through its natural cycles, down and around and up and down again, brings a twinkle to my eye that resembles something like inspiration.
Perhaps my affinity for waterfalls mirrors my love for circles, for the number zero, for things that symbolize forever and nothing and always, with no beginning or end.
It’s a funny thing, you know, to travel again through the memories of every trail over this past decade, past romantic and vibrant flowers, families of peaceful deer, deep blue lakes untouched for hours, shimmers of intricate spider webs, and to think anything other than of their beauty. Their healing, picturesque charm. Yet, I must admit to you all, I’ve thought of many of these things and then immediately after wondered, “But how on earth did the waterfall disappear?”
My semi-annual waterfall searches then became this almost comical, insatiable quest. I leave them usually flooded with texts and phone calls from family and friends asking, “Well? Did you see it?”
Not, "Did you have a wonderful time?”
Or, “Do you feel revived? Healed by mother nature?!”
I have set the tone for these questions. Of course. And so I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this…tone I’ve set.
And I’ll answer them, “No. No, I did not. But, we had an amazing time!”
But. Always, but.
Instead of the waterfall, Mojo and I landed on a sort of watering hole, with a pond of sorts just a few inches above Mojo’s little paws. Water piddled down a short rocky cliff before us, just a whisper of what I’m sure was once a gorgeous cascade.
Instead of this aforementioned waterfall, we saw a beautiful blue lake and miniature, clear, and pristine little creeks where Mojo gladly ambled and drank. We could hear the water from the creeks before we’d witness them, just like I’d hoped for, and my heart made a duet with their babbling song. I was happy. Content.
And even the place where the waterfall would have been was beautiful. Beautiful and melancholy and gently, delicately serene. It was a relic, yes, embodying desire and love, beauty and time. Change and acceptance.
This earth is not who she used to be. She’s actively changing, shifting, rebalancing and recalibrating against the destruction we, humans, have caused her. Yet I go to her wanting more. Craving, more.
For years, I’ve chased waterfalls. For years, I’ve found none. Probably because of global warming. Probably because of global boiling or the fact that my birthday is in one of the hottest, driest months. Probably because when you chase a thing, it’s that much harder to find. Funny how that works.
But this past trip has been a living poem. A metaphor for this wild, wild year of constant desire amid loss, or less than one might be used to. So many of us want more, need more right now, and so we have shifted around our lives to flow more reasonably with the change. Surviving however we know how. The earth is doing the same thing. Growing painfully away from or into something new.
This trip has asked me so loudly to look differently at this growing. To see the beauty in it. The survival, the resilience, the beauty. And so right now, in the moment, I will.
I will complain later. Complaining is sometimes good. And I will fight more later. Fighting can be good too. But right now, I will say thank you, and I will smile.
Have a delightful two weeks until we meet again,
Jasper
Hi Jasper, I really enjoyed reading this post. Discovered your writings through The Memoir Land Author Questionnaire. I am writing to you from India, where we grow up revering the earth, as a living metaphor of the Divine Feminine or Divine Mother. So, yes, I found your words deeply thought-provoking especially where you wrote, "This earth is not who she used to be. She’s actively changing, shifting, rebalancing and recalibrating against the destruction we, humans, have caused her. Yet I go to her wanting more. Craving, more." Thank you for writing this.