I came back to the river, and the river was still running. Different water, but still the same. It’s been here a long time, the river, but always changed, and I think my life, and all life, is also much the same. Thoughts stream. Ideas flow. People come. People go. Life swells, then ebbs in drought. The river is certain, and so is the doubt. There is a cat beside me, also looking at the water. Why is it looking? What are its thoughts? Are they part of the same stream, of conscious thinking, just like the bee, the buzzard, the fox? Are we all one, like the molecules of water, different identities but all the same thing? Why do I wonder, when I’ll never know? The deepest of thinking, will never certainty bring.
