Buffalo Creek Crossing Waters Of Nun & NnuUnity Consciousness #1903

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( 9abk of 11)

I was reborn a land buffalo and then a water buffalo heading back to water horse, water cow and hippopotamus – symbols of the Ancient of Days as the Great Duo Of The Waters manifesting in star constellations as Aquaria-Aquarius & Kepheus (Shu-Tefnut)

Buffalo Creek Crossing

Adrenaline runs rampant like stampeding buffaloes, pounding into every muscle. I lean forward and push harder against the earth. With the precision of a long jumper, I push up and out at the last instant. Rising steadily, I rotate my arms and pump my legs to prolong my loft and propel myself toward the other side. The hard part is over. All I need to do is relax, stretch and glide. Concentrate on landing.

I’ve traveled this distance of sixty to seventy feet almost every other way. I’ve waded, hopped from rock to rock, walked on boards laid at the water’s edge, bicycled through, driven over, skated from side to side and even been carried across. Making it to the other side is what is meant by, “I’m going across the creek!” Though these words are commonplace in Kistler, my desire is to go even farther.

Sometimes I stop in the middle of the walk-across bridge made of mismatched metals. What moves all this water forward? Where does it come from and where is it going?
Will it circle the Earth and return?

This water, West Virginian for the moment, is going somewhere so important; it won’t even sit still behind our makeshift dams. It slips around the sides and through the tiniest of openings. It gathers its strength and jumps over the top. Sometimes it is refreshed by a torrent of water angels. Although frustrating, I respect its determination and admire the way it divides the valley with a line of its own. It also connects Midway, the section I live in, to every other place.

I dream of standing barefoot in its source and just listening. Images filtered through others are no longer satisfying. I want to absorb Asia today, Australia tomorrow and Africa the day after. There is so much more on the other side of the same creek. The Baptist Church, Tipton’s Place, Trogden’s Grocery, Ola Mae’s house, snake handler’s church and post office all stand and testify. I stare curiously until the creek’s calling settles upon me like mist upon itself.

Come with! The voice of many waters sent me!
Come with! Just remember. Sometimes, jump!

If the buffalo had leapt into the air, it could have eluded the native who followed it years ago. Man and beast could have escaped the newcomer. The creek absorbs all their souls. They wish to remain in the world above the water to direct their descendants firsthand, but must use liquid hands instead.

These spirits hold their breaths as they feel the familiar rhythm of running. Desire builds. A flash at the bank rises gracefully. They launch themselves, but are covered with a thickness of water. A cushiony breeze keeps me afloat — maybe I’ll end up wherever stars do that jump across the sky — but like traces of whispered secrets, it evaporates.

As soon as I land, momentum returns to running. I pass the slate dump, go by the spot where the train trestle once stood, through Sandy Bottom, past Man Junior High School and continue beyond the stoplight and the point where Buffalo Creek travels with its companion, the Guyandotte River. The river, road, train tracks and I bend gently along the Three Mile Curve, then part ways.

The relentless rush of adrenaline pounds like drumbeats deep inside the Congo. It is the sound of men chasing buffaloes and of men chasing men. Spirits rise like majestic mountains. Even though I can’t see the other side, I am relaxed. A wave in the distance shatters into pieces of starlight just as another forms beneath me.