The Low Path

I am the low gravity, the easiest path through the mountains, the river herself, the most potent point of receiving, the definition of the valley, sweet relief.

She's there, but where? Where is she? Where is the river, what about her could you name as constant? What could you honestly say she contains?

Everything, for a time.

Nothing, after all.

It is natural that the ill-equipped man fears her. The channel that bears the intensity of the seasons in their turn, conveying their flow and their parch.

An undeniable metric of the status of the kingdom.

Drought has her show out reeking for nourishment, a swamp and then a harsh unyielding treachery, flooding when you feed her for the spite of how she starved.

Abundant thaw has her rushing with deadly power, a force of disruption and chaos, she expands for it with grace, always softening. Tread her edges carefully or better yet, keep your distance.

Oh, but in the warmth of prosperity, in the summer's sun, she is your refuge, your source, your muse. You avoid her only for the hours you'll lose to her charm, to that respite, thinking you have somewhere else to be, some obligation to serve.

In the heat of having, with so much on the table, you always eventually descend to her cool embrace and remember why you are alive.

She is what makes the heat of having feel good. She is the reason to bear the excess, the prosperity, the constant exposure to risk and loss, and she is the WAY you bear it. She is the best channel of distribution besides yourself. Her fertile field generates further wealth, the wealth of her experience and yours, as well as immeasurable material wealth that comes along, incidentally, with this radiance.

This is how the right woman is an appreciating asset—you gain value as a result of her presence in your life. Your life gains value as a result of your provision for her. What you provide to her gains value in her fertile field.

This is not for the faint of heart, the fearful of responsibility, the resenter of maintenance, the lamenting leader.

This is not for the ill-equipped, the unenchanted, the one unwilling to prosper, unwilling to drop the righteous yolk of suffering and pain.

This is for the devourer of life, the craver of experience, the courageous, the bold.

This is for the one who refuses to waste time with conflict when truth is on the table, when alchemy is available.

This is for the man of material, of substance, who knows the only purpose of the material is to serve the experience of life. She is the embodiment of his faith in the ethereal, his investment in all that is holy.

She is the thread of nourishment, the connection to source that feeds all the lands.

The one who serves her is the sky, the sun, the earth. He is all and she conveys all.

Symbiotic.

Erotic.

Distinct.

Inseparable.