About rivers. 14

A stream carves the land—
Quiet, persistent, alive—
Bound only by time.

The sound of the river reached me before I saw it. A low murmur, rising and falling, like the whispers of an old friend. I followed the path down, where willows leaned over the water, their branches dipping gracefully into the current. The river was not rushing, nor was it still. It moved with purpose, its surface catching the sunlight in fractured brilliance. For a moment, I stood there, captivated by its simplicity, its constancy.

And in that moment, it struck me: the river wasn’t rushing to get anywhere. It simply flowed, from its source to its destination, embracing every bend and obstacle along the way. There was a lesson there, hidden in the rhythm of its journey.

The Simplicity of Flow

To flow like a river is to live simply yet intentionally. The river doesn’t resist the rocks in its path; it curves around them. It doesn’t pause to question whether it’s moving fast enough or in the right direction. It trusts its course, knowing that every twist and turn is part of its journey.

Life is often made heavier by our resistance to it. We fight against the current, trying to control what cannot be controlled. But resistance only exhausts us, while flow sustains. To live like a river is to let go of unnecessary struggles, to trust that the path you are on will lead you where you need to go. It is both an act of courage and one of surrender.

Finding Beauty in the Moment

The river’s journey is not defined by its source or its destination but by the moments in between. It finds beauty in the way the willow’s branches brush its surface, in the way the wind scatters ripples across its face. It takes time to linger in the eddies, to reflect the sky, to hum its quiet songs to the stones below.

We, too, have moments like these—spaces of quiet beauty often overlooked in the rush to get somewhere else. The laughter of a loved one, the warmth of sunlight on your skin, the way the air feels just before rain. These are the willows of our lives, the places where the wind hides its songs. They are not distractions from the journey; they are the journey.

Reaching for the Horizon

The river never stops reaching, even as it knows it will never truly touch the horizon. It moves forward, not out of urgency but out of instinct, out of its very nature. It knows its purpose lies not in arrival but in the act of flowing. And so it flows—steadily, faithfully, endlessly.

We are much the same. Our horizons shift as we move toward them, always just out of reach. But this is not a reason to stop. It is a reason to continue. The beauty of life lies in the striving, in the constant motion toward something greater, even if we never quite reach it.

About rivers

1. Embrace the Current: Stop resisting the natural flow of your life. Trust that every obstacle and detour has its place in your journey.
2. Find Joy in the Details: Pay attention to the small, beautiful moments that surround you. They are the willows and windsongs of your life.
3. Move with Purpose: Flowing doesn’t mean drifting aimlessly. Know your direction, but allow for flexibility along the way.
4. Let Go of Control: Release the need to micromanage every step. The river doesn’t plan its course; it discovers it as it goes.
5. Honor the Horizon: Strive for what lies ahead, not with desperation but with quiet determination. The journey is its own reward.

The beauty of life is found in its impermanence, its imperfections. The river, with its shifting currents and changing depths, embodies this philosophy. It doesn’t seek perfection. It simply flows, carving its path one moment at a time.

Your life, too, is a river. It will have its rapids and its calm stretches, its clear waters and its murky depths. But every twist and turn, every pause and surge, is part of what makes it beautiful. Let yourself flow, unhurried and unbound, and trust that the horizon will greet you in its own time.

As I left the riverbank, the sound of the water stayed with me, a quiet hum in the back of my mind. The willows swayed gently, their branches catching the last light of the day. And as I walked, I felt it—the pull of my own river, the current that would carry me forward. Not rushing, not resisting. Just flowing.