The river

I have meandered along through a forest for an hour or so and that seemed like enough time to find a good place so I went down to the river. I am here to find myself, I kept thinking. I am going to learn everything, I kept hoping. I will feel so incredible when I'm enlightened, I kept dreaming.
I sit now at the side of the river. My legs are crossed, my arms hang over my knees, in what seems like a comfortable enough position. Step one is completed. Step two begins now: I have to clear my mind. I have to focus on clearing my mind. Focus. Focus on the river. Focus on the continuous movement, the non-stop flow of life, uninterrupted, unending. Focus on that rock, the bug on that rock, look at it go! Rock to rock it flies! Where are you going little bug?
I have broken focus and realize that I can't trust my eyes. I close them and think only of darkness. Darkness is nothingness, right? But darkness is easily filled in the sunlit corners of my mind. I open my eyes again and focus on my legs. My legs don't change and I don't move them. Yes, I've found it. I have completed the first part of step two: focus. Now the mind-clearing will come easily.

After an hour, I had to check, I am feeling agitated. My mind has been hard to focus. I don't know if it is possible now that I've listened to so much music in my life. My mind will always be filled with music and this does not lend itself to focus, which is necessary for enlightenment. Life is purpose-driven, but the purpose in my life is to be able to let nature direct my purpose. I must clear my mind first.
I return to staring at my legs. Hairy, with a scar on my leg from the neighbor's fence when I was in grade school. I see a tick appear from the underside of my calf and my focus is lost to nature once again. I spring up and smack the tick away. Sprinting out of the area, I get a rush. Exuberant, I run to where I know a waterfall is and strip down to my underwear as I get to the rock. My smile slowly dims to a dull glow, the excitement dwindling. I realize that I am terrified of the water. Well, more specifically, the rocks that are hidden by the water. I can't jump in right now, I don't know the water. I'll do this later.
I walk on down the path, regaining my focus. Feeling encouraged, I walk to the edge of the river and close my eyes and nothingness rushes into my mind. The glorious moments in which I think nothing yield splendid clarity. I feel that I am listening to nature perfectly, like in all the books I've read. I fall asleep.

I wake up with a pain in my back because I slept wrong. I get up to stretch and I can't think about anything aside from the pain surging through my back. I wish I had a bed, but I have denied myself all homely comforts. I am not stupid, I know the way to town easily. This wasn't supposed to be about pain at all. I want to swim. I make my way to the waterfall area and, as I walk, my back feels better. I swim near the rock, the jumping-off point, and I realize that it is safe. I scale the rock to get to a safe jumping place. I realize that I'm smiling and this thought breaks up my thoughtless trek. I stare down at the water and my fear is gone because I know what I am looking at and it is only water. I jump!

I come up smiling and no thoughts go through my head as I float down the river for a while until I'm stopped by a rock. At this point, I walk down the river, the water flowing gently around my calves, accepting my ripples lovingly.