Sometimes, I feel like a river running dry. Like I’m here to lend life as needed, but I don’t want to take anything back.
Sometimes, I feel like many rivers, rushing past trees and mountains, carving stone while racing myself to the ocean.
Sometimes, I feel like a gentle brook, trickling after a morning rain.
Sometimes, I feel like a river dammed. Like there’s so much building up inside of me and I just want to be free.
Be like water.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a desert.
The sun and wind, wearing me down by day, soothed at night by the cold and the clear view of the night sky.
The stars are so inviting. It’s like my soul is home when I look to the sky.
I often feel like I am on a desert journey.
The few people who are real with me are an oasis on my way.
Where does the wanderer go? And why do they never stay?
Consciousness is a river, making its way back home.