© 2018 Greg & Sylvia RAY

Sometimes surrender is the only salvation

The river was in high flood. It was roaring, yellow and angry. The sky was gunmetal grey, and the day felt sullen, like nature was in a bad mood. The mood rubbed off on me, so nothing felt right. I knew getting in a kayak on that river, on that day, was a bad idea. I even knew I would probably get in trouble and maybe even die. I actually thought that, before I went. I put on a wetsuit, a life-vest, neoprene boots and a helmet. Then we took the kayaks upstream and put them…

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Adrift on the river of time

I wrote the column above in The Newcastle Herald back in February 2005. That's nearly 17 years ago, as the crow flies. I use that seemingly odd expression deliberately, since it seems to me that time moves like some rivers: sometimes running pell-mell in a straight line through tight canyons of circumstance, sometimes meandering gently through sun-kissed meadows and sometimes twisting and turning through unexpected rapids and past overhanging branches at such a rate that the only thing to remain in your memory after the hectic passage is a few blurry images and a sense of…

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