They rose and fell, night and day, without respite. Sometimes in the middle of a hot day, they lay down dull awaiting the next breeze to rouse them again. Sometimes, in that dull moment, they sank to the bottom, pulled down by undercurrents. They rose this way and that, they were pulled this way and that. When the sun and the moon shone, when the the bright light brought them under the spotlight, they rose to capture the glory and imprison it forever. But when the orbs were covered and darkness fell, they touched new lows, grumbling and complaining.
Sometimes foaming, sometimes gentle, sometimes spiteful, sometimes playful, unsteady, capricious, mercurial... They swung the way the winds carried them. They moved the way the currents dragged them.
Forever hoping to breach the banks, forever reaching out to far shores, only to be pulled back, to be within their bounds. Forever looking out, distanced from their roots, seeking the sky, caressing the land, submitting to the wind... Caught in a cycle of dying and reviving with the sun and the rain.
But tired, one day, the waves have to cease and the water return to the deep bosom that is silent, vast and mysterious. Drop by drop, it has to feel the oneness and the separation; knowing this is where it cames from, and knowing that it is the resting place; knowing that it is a part of the whole and the whole too...
In that silence, in that depth, away from the illusive ether, the teasing winds and the elusive earth, it has to find itself, feel complete and be at peace.
Even as the waves rise and fall, it has to know that finally, the rising and falling are only on the surface, a veil that hides the deep truth, of where it truly belongs.
Till they crash against the boulders and thrash about, there is the joy of adventure but the fatigue of unhappiness. When they cease, that is something else.
Thoughts cease, mind ceases and we feel our true self - restful and whole, content and happy.
Sometimes foaming, sometimes gentle, sometimes spiteful, sometimes playful, unsteady, capricious, mercurial... They swung the way the winds carried them. They moved the way the currents dragged them.
Forever hoping to breach the banks, forever reaching out to far shores, only to be pulled back, to be within their bounds. Forever looking out, distanced from their roots, seeking the sky, caressing the land, submitting to the wind... Caught in a cycle of dying and reviving with the sun and the rain.
But tired, one day, the waves have to cease and the water return to the deep bosom that is silent, vast and mysterious. Drop by drop, it has to feel the oneness and the separation; knowing this is where it cames from, and knowing that it is the resting place; knowing that it is a part of the whole and the whole too...
In that silence, in that depth, away from the illusive ether, the teasing winds and the elusive earth, it has to find itself, feel complete and be at peace.
Even as the waves rise and fall, it has to know that finally, the rising and falling are only on the surface, a veil that hides the deep truth, of where it truly belongs.
Till they crash against the boulders and thrash about, there is the joy of adventure but the fatigue of unhappiness. When they cease, that is something else.
Thoughts cease, mind ceases and we feel our true self - restful and whole, content and happy.
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