The Raft

The Raft

I saw a raft floating down a river. Upon it stood a family – a man, a woman, some small children and a grandfather. They seemed to be from India, having dark skins and sari clothing.

The grandfather wore nothing but a white loin cloth. They were all thin, but he was emaciated.


Strangest of all, the grandfather sat perched on a branch of a short tree that protruded from the middle of the raft, looking like some scrawny chicken.

The tree was bushy but leafless, as though quite dead.

It was a picture of destitution, rife with symbolism.

And an unspoken question:

“Will you help them?”

I wanted to help – very much. But how?

The answer came as a movement of feeling awareness.

“Release them. Let them go.”

So I did.

And . . . they floated away.