On Falling in the River with Margaret Fell

So I sat me down in my pew again, and cried bitterly. Margaret Fell. 1694

When I sat down, the silence 
was already rising, 
a river of quick fire. 
Like a body, flowing, 
it called to me. Quaking, 
I fell whole, no jot, no tittle 
withheld but all of me— falling. 
I wept to find that I was ice,
pure ice and that this thing
in me wanted melting… 

Those years I’d spent, or gathered
had hardened into cicles.
And I was sun-hurt, brightly brittle.  
Spirit was fast tiding 
and wanted to break loose,
shatter the house I’d taken
for my being— 

My heart felt so tickled,
I laughed out loud to see 
water pure as light…
I was not only swimming in it :
It swam through me. 
A truth I tell you, 
sweetly brimmed
like a cup drawn coolly
from deep springs.

We are thieves, all thieves,
I know. All want forgiveness.
Yet this I’ve seen: our one life 
is this river —most else 
is smoke and ash, 
guttering and gimcrack.
And if you ask me why
I walk, I breathe,
I’d say it was to fall 
and fall again 
into this silvering, 
this silence, I’ll call river.