What is it like to be the water of the river?
Always moving on, with no likelihood of ever returning? Unstoppable and unrelenting, always fresh and vital, always forging onwards, never able to stop and rest? Accumulating all the matter of things that enter the river? All things external to you, now yours?
What is it like to be the rocks of the riverbed?
Bearing witness to the world of constant flux above, moving ever subject to the same essential laws, courses changing only minutely over time? Feeling the infinitesimal wearing of the water as it takes part of you with it as it goes?
What is it like to be the scum accumulating in the slow bends of the river?
The water you sit on dynamic and churning, but some invisible force holding you in place; separate and trapped in stasis, almost but not quite in reach of the flow?
What is it like to be the river itself, bigger than all these parts and yet each of them at once?
Ancient and ephemeral all at once, yet always subject to the steady weathering of time? While so many parts of you rush and gush and tumble and splash, you stay your course, steadfast and grounded, yet knowing even you cannot ever be eternal?
What is it like to be the atoms of the water or the rock? The hydrogen or the carbon or the silicon that lends itself to this mission, and will be part of many missions more?
So fundamental, so first principle, having seen so much, having been so much? The seasons, the years, the millennia fail to make their mark on you, but will you end? How could you know?
…alright Yve, I think that’s enough river for one day.