Story of the Week: Amara and the River of Ages
September 8, 2009
I stood at the edge of the clearing, hesitant to go in further. I could see her sitting hunched outside of her doorway in the shadows of the tall pines. I didn’t want to get any closer, afraid that somehow she would rub off on me. Her name was Amara and they had told me that she was very bitter. I was very curious to find out why.
She seemed very old as she huddled there, wrapped in a blanket. Was she sleeping? I made a noise to attract her attention but either she ignored me or she didn’t care. I thought about running away but found myself stepping closer instead. I could see into her house through the doorway and something looked very intriguing inside. I had the sense that this was a woman of substance. What had happened to make her so bitter?
I stepped closer and said hello. She looked up slowly and stared me straight in the eye, cold and direct. “What do you want?” I felt a shiver of fear but I also saw something else behind that cold stare and I had to know more. This was clearly a woman of depth. What had happened to her?
She looked like she’d fallen back to sleep, so I tiptoed inside of the house, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. But just as soon as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I felt her presence behind me and I knew that I had made a grave mistake. I had entered her home without permission.
“I’ll show you what you have come to see.” She walked towards the back of her shadowy home. I saw bodies lying curled up, fetal and motionless. “These are my babies. These are my husbands. They are all dead. What more do you want from me?” I felt shocked and embarrassed. I was in a place that I didn’t belong.
A young girl appeared and said, “I am too young and she is too old. So we live here together to make up the difference.” I wondered what she meant by that.
I asked the girl, “How did she get to be so old and bitter?” “I can’t tell you that story,” she said. “Only she can tell the story. Go outside and sit with her. She’s out back, under the tree.” But as I looked around that lightless space, I saw many beautiful objects from all over the world, from many different cultures. I knew that this was a woman with great treasures to share. What had happened to cut her off from all of that?
I went out and sat at her feet, quiet and silent. She sighed and began to weep and mumble something ever so softly. I wanted to reach out and hold her hand but I didn’t know if it was polite or even appropriate. Somehow she felt like an elder to me.
So many days I’ve thought of giving up
So many days I’ve felt I can’t go on
So many losses, so much pain
The rivers have dried up
The flowers have died
Why did the rivers dry up? Why did she have so much pain? I had to know but I dared not ask. Suddenly I felt very hot and incredibly angry. Fear shot through my body like a lightening bolt and I thought, “What is this?” I looked at her and she was laughing. “Now you know what I feel every minute of the day. Life runs through me – my life, others lives, the earth, the universe, the cosmos. I can’t stop it. So I live here alone. No one could put up with a woman like this.”
I wanted to say something to make her feel better but instead I started to cry rivers of tears and couldn’t stop. I felt incredibly sad. She was so beautiful, so full of passion and here she was living all alone, cut off from everyone except that young girl. Wasn’t there anyone to love her?
She read my thoughts again. “NO!“, she screamed. “This is my fate. You cannot change my destiny. Who do you think you are?” and she got up and stormed away.
I felt so badly. I knew that I had crossed the line. Maybe it was time for me to leave? But I felt compelled to go even further. I stepped towards the edge of the woods. I saw the dry creek bed. I knew then what I had to do, what I had come to do.
Despite the circumstances I went down to that dry riverbed. I took off all my clothes and lay down. I stayed like that for 3 whole days and 3 whole nights, no food, no water. I cried and prayed and cried and prayed. I prayed for life to return to this woman’s heart – to all women’s hearts. And so by the dawn of the 4th morning, the riverbed was filled up again and the flowers were beginning to grow. Was it my tears or had the river spirit herself heard my pleas and returned?
I may never know the whole story but when I went back to Amara’s house, all of the lights were on and she looked happy and alive. She was jubilant. “Thank you for coming,” she said. ” I know what you need too.” And she reached into her pocket and gave me a wooden heart. “Take it home with you. Plant it in the earth. It will find some roots.” 
That was the last time that I saw her. But they told me later that she had changed her name and found a lover who stayed with her always. The flowers returned. The river flourished.
and this is my story
just a story to tell….
Annie Hart
March 5, 1999
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