At one time a soul did sit beside a river. It leaned and drew itself
toward the river. This river was not just any river, however. It was a river of lost dreams and hopes long dead. This river had no name, but many still know of it. For the waters the rush around so quickly and silently are really tears shed from innocents and those long awakened. This soul wore a black cloak which he huddled closely around his shoulders. "How cold I am!" thought the soul to himself. He huddled the cloak around his shoulders closer and put his feet in the waters of pain rushing before him. The blindfold he wore shut out all light from his eyes. He could see better then any man, but he also seen so little he as well could have been blind. Then the soul stood. With shoulder shaking with fear and a new energy running through himself he removed the blindfold. Then he fell upon his knees in fear and awe. For what the soul saw was more truth then he had allowed himself to see with his blindfold on. He now knew how close he to becoming dead in spirit. Too long had he sat here drinking this bad water.
Now he knew that he stood on the River of Darkness. Perhaps even scarier was the fact that he seen the river he had long forgotten far onto the horizon. It was the River of Light. This river was the greatest river that any soul could know. For it gleamed with a luminescence that no one could possibly comprehend. The water were of tears of hope and of love and dreams reborn. Both rivers were of time, but this one was of renewal. "It is time for me to go!" declared the soul. He stood and began making the long trek to the River of Light. He had to climb great mountains, and cross through rugged terrain. He became dirty and ragged looking. Although his trek was hard little rewards of simple pleasure littered his path. He again began to feel warm and see the pleasures of life lay before him abound. Lighting his face the whole way there was a mixed look of happiness and determination. When he reached the river he tore off his black cloak. He leaped into the river in naked ectasy. The dirt from his journey washed away in the great river. "I am!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He stepped out of the river and put on a new robe. It was a smoky white color. He knew this to be good. For no one can wear pure white except those who are totally pure and innocent. He had been dead and now he rose again like the great Pheonix who rises from his own ashes. "I must tell those who are blind the way to this river. For I cannot help them get here, only they can do that. It is a choice one makes himself a journey no one can help them with. I have made it! I know of the River of Darkness now and someday I may regretably return. But now I know of the River of Light and this shall be my reward when I return from the darkness. For it shall always be waiting for the warm embrace of those willing to find it!" The soul raised his hands to the sky joyfully and he rejoiced. --Silent Wolf
