“Of all the water's secrets . . . He saw that this water flowed and flowed, it was constantly flowing, and yet it was always there; . . . eternally the same and yet new” - Hermann Hesse

The raging river rushes down the peak and pulls pebbles with it,
but the other rocks lay on the riverbed and watch the river flow on, leaving them behind and
forgotten.

The ruthless river is famous for its perfectly smooth small floating pebbles, but like any other river, its anchoring bedrock pose together and gaze at the cloudless azure sky, uniform and
forgotten.

Forgotten like the young woman with a basket of market goods

that passed by a man called Aristotle in the streets of Greece

Forgotten like the eager boy with his dusty clothes
that passed by a man called Confucius in the streets of China

Forgotten like the solemn gentleman with his newspaper
that passed by a man called René Descartes in the streets of France

Forgotten like the happy little girl with her newly sewn dress
that passed by a man called John Locke in the streets of Netherlands

Yet, the relentless river still rushes on and on - spring, summer, fall,
winter - endlessly snaking past the tall majestic evergreens,
forging forward, never ceasing.

The river rushes on and on,
down a mysterious path not yet discovered –
unknown to him, unknown to her, unknown to you,
unknown to us.

The river rushes on and on,
gracefully twisting to the rhythm of the wingéd chorus –
without him, without her, without you,
without us.

The raging rapids will rush down the mountain forever and carry pebbles with it,
but the other rocks will be forgotten,
like us.