The Death of Gods

They canoed the Muskegon on a warm, sunny summer’s day —

Two families testing out the idea of being one.

They canoed trying to work through the death of one

Tribe’s God and the other tribe’s Goddess.

A river ride would be good the parents thought.  Everyone went along with the idea.

Swiftly running water might be good to navigate on the road to recovery.

It’s a metaphor, the parents, survivor from each tribe, said, encouraging each other.

Put a finger in; take a finger out; put a finger in and you shake it all about;

That’s what life is all about — the same but different river, the same but different life.

Let’s do the Hokey Pokey, take it slow, and turn our lives around. That’s what it’s all about.

One day they were one thing; the next something very different. Herman Hesse, trying to help, sat in the back seat of the van explaining the image of the river in Buddhist thought.

“We’ve got a picnic lunch and so we can stop along the way on a sandy bank.”

“Sure,” they said without much enthusiasm.

It isn’t an easy experience, the aftermath of the death of Gods.

The teens of one tribe full of adrenaline took off in their canoe with cooler aboard. “Why did we let them take the cooler?”  They paddled like Ottawa running from Ojibwa.

Young adults from the other tribe drifted here and there and didn’t care at all about paddling pretending to be nonchalant and carefree. Two canoes, two trips all the same.

The joke goes, “What’s the difference between a Hollander and a canoe?

A canoe tips.”  It did. They splashed each other and climbed back in.

The two parents from different tribes brought up the rear aching with each stroke.

It’s hard experiencing the death of Gods, even on a sunny, summer’s day on the Muskegon.