There is
an infinite ocean.
No shore.
No beginning.
No end.
No eye
can see it.
No word
can describe it.
It simply is.
From this
infinite ocean
rise countless clouds.
Each carrying
countless drops.
Each drop
begins a journey.
Some fall
back into the ocean.
Some fall
upon mountains.
Some become rivers.
Some disappear
beneath the earth.
Some nourish
forests.
Some freeze
into glaciers.
Some rise again
as mists.
No two journeys
are the same.
Some return
within moments.
Some wander
for centuries.
Yet every journey,
however long,
however winding,
moves toward
the same destination.
The ocean.
Then the drop
begins to believe
it is separate.
It compares
itself with
other drops.
It fears
being lost.
It clings
to the place where
it happens to be.
It forgets where
it came from.
Yet none of this
changes what
it truly is.
The drop is water.
The ocean is water.
Many forms.
One essence.
Some drops gather mud.
Some gather salt.
Some carry what was
never theirs to carry.
Before they merge,
the mud settles.
The salt dissolves.
Only water remains.
The sun
lifts them.
The wind
carries them.
The clouds
renew them.
The journey
cleanses them.
Time quietly
does the rest.
Then the drop
returns.
Nothing new
is created.
Nothing real
is lost.
Nothing disappears
but the illusion
of separation.
Then comes
the vessel.
It gathers
wandering drops.
It gives them a place.
It offers discipline.
It offers hope.
It offers a sense
of belonging.
For many drops,
the vessel
is a necessity.
Without it,
they may lose
themselves.
There are
many vessels.
Some are
made of clay.
Some of glass.
Some are ancient.
Some are new.
Each has
its own shape.
Its own language.
Its own traditions.
But no vessel can hold
a drop forever.
Time eventually breaks
every vessel.
The vessel
returns to dust.
The drop
continues its journey.
The ocean
remains silent.
It judges
no vessel.
It favors
no journey.
It simply
receives every drop.
It never asks,
Which vessel
did you come from?
Which journey
did you take?
For the ocean
recognizes
only itself.