The River is in spate, fast-moving Taking on the mood of the angry gray clouds. Plentiful small whirlpools, swirled and moved by the spate, to be broken away. And until then, it embodies hurtles of the water meeting the unseen depth of the river-bed Serving the pattern in expressing themselves completely, With no attachment to stay, extinguishing, as the next comes to take its place Like single moments of time.
The sound of the River making itself heard, over the noise of the mind Varying decibels, gushing, ebbing, withdrawing. The sound, incremented and enhanced by the natural echoes of the narrow valley; Mimicking a waterfall, camouflaging the small countless clashes that make it up ? its glamour and style, successful in its end. Adding to the senses ? The muddy brown of the River reflect the hues of the soil taken in its hurtling course, The white wavelets rushing forth on the surface, enforced by the gradient Further above, the startling green on the opposite slopes, fill the eyes in Differing shades defined by the thickness of the foliage, Crafting a pattern as indefinable, as the whirlpools on the River. Life ? Several moments together Ever-changing directions What is the pattern? Where is the meaning?
As the evening draws, the mist comes in, Encroaching suddenly, making its presence felt without a sigh Sticking to the water, upstream and down-stream A cloudy snake making the River its bed Twirling and curling, taking on the River?s form and shape perfectly The countless waves, replaced The whirlpools and hues, wiped off and obfuscated. But wait, what is that constant, that?s still there, still unchanged? The elemental sound that empties the Mind. ? Sanjay Desai Originally drafted on Sep 2, 2007 Sinthali Ashram, on the banks of the River Ganges