Standing in a river, you feel good.
You sense the world differently.
Standing in a river, you swap vision with the hawk overhead and see you are only one thing in one river surrounded by one land… among many.
The ease and the kinship would be enough.
But it’s what comes next, like the second stanza of Milosz’s poem, which surprises. After standing in a river, you step into clear, creative service.
“Serving what purpose?” you used to cry.
It doesn’t matter to you now — you do what ripens things. You know how because you follow the glow, delighting always.
And if you lose sight, you go stand in the river.