Being fascinated with a small pond...
How the water seemed to breath with each wave of the ripple.
As though each cresting rolling flow contained the entire desire of the disturbance.
By rock or by wind, or by your tired feet in to the water,
was your existence like the ripple?
Maybe it was more like the pond, exhaling each vibration.
It is its own ideal disturbance, I guessed.
I looked at each ripple...
It carries itself to the edge of the pond,
and then back.
I thought about riding the curl,
and realized upon return it was so to with our life...
Our thoughts, and our thinking.
Our language, and our speaking.
Life flows, and then bounces back...
And when I think of that,
I am filled with joy, and terrified.
But I'll live with that...
Should life know another way?
So I am the ripple.
I am the pond.
And I am the edge.