For
as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and
another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.
—Marcus
Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr
Long)
The
image of a river to represent time and the passage of life can be seen over and
over again, from a variety of different sources, and so for many of us it has
sadly become a platitude. As common as its expression may be, we can still learn
much by considering its specific aspects.
We speak
of a river as a “something”, just as we speak of life as a “something”, though
in both cases they are hardly static states at all, but the constant motion of
the ever-changing parts acting and being acted upon. The course, depth, and
speed of the river itself will change with time, and at no given point is the
water within the river the same.
As it is
also in many Eastern traditions, specifically that of Taoism, water itself
serves as such a wonderful likeness for the activity of Nature. Water is subtle
as it adapts its shape to what surrounds it, but it is also powerful, capable
of sweeping away anything before it. What is at one moment a quiet stream can
become a raging torrent, and what is at one moment carried along gently can be
smashed in an instant.
When
water slowly erodes a rock in a stream, we may not even notice the gradual
transformation, but when water crashes across the land in a flood, we are
shocked by the sudden destruction. In either case, however, whether it is slow
or fast, small or great in it scale, the passage of water leaves nothing the
same.
The
changing circumstances or our own lives are very similar. We may float almost
effortlessly on water that is calm, and feel threatened by drowning on water
that is rough. It seems like a friend here, an enemy there. I may think that
the world around me will always stay as it is, but it is already something
different as I take it for granted. Time will not always treat me the same, and
one day, perhaps unexpectedly, time will carry me away as well, as it carries
away everything else.
Only a
profound respect for that constant transformation of Nature can make life
intelligible and meaningful.
I was
once hiking alone in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and I came to a
stream I would need to cross. I was tired, I was impatient, and this surely
affected my judgment. I didn’t fell like adding another mile or so to a bridge. The
water hardly looked all that deep or fast from the shore, and I figured that if
I tread slowly and carefully, I’d manage my way to the other side without a
problem.
A single
misstep half way across changed my mind. The current was stronger than I had
thought, and I found myself submerged, being pulled downstream, and knocked
about on rocks and fallen branches. I somehow managed to grapple my way out of
the water to the other side, but the moment remains firmly stamped in my
memory, as a reminder that things in Nature are far deeper, stronger, and
faster than I might think.
This
time I got away with thoroughly wet gear and a few bruises, but the next time I
won’t underestimate the power of a stream. I need to respect that.
Written in 1/2006
Not as harmless as it may appear. . .
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