The stream flows down the mountains, through the trees, along the rocks. It always flows.
I visit the stream often. I enjoy the cool water that flows past. I enjoy seeing the fish and other creatures swimming in it. I even notice the occasional tree branch or old tire that floats down it too.
Sometimes, I try to catch one or two of the fish. Sometimes, I try to grab one of the water logged branches. Sometimes, I try to remove an old tire here or there. I wash my hands in the water. And I drink the water. But I don’t try to stop it or catch it or not miss it.
When I leave the stream, I leave everything that’s flowing past. And that’s okay.
The stream is all over the place. I have one flowing through my email inbox right now. This blog is a stream. Books, movies, songs, conversations – all streams of their own.
In fact, since noticing this trend first online, because there’s obviously too much to keep up with online, I’ve noticed most of the rest of my world is a stream too. Most of my thoughts, most of my plans, most of the people I meet, most of the events I attend – all streams. Money is a stream. Possessions, a stream. The words I say, the things I do, the moments I experience.
So much is a stream. And that’s okay.
