Hear

The river’s voice was full of longing, ardent with sorrow, full of unquenchable longing. The river strove toward its goal; Siddhartha saw it hurrying on, this river composed of himself and those near him and of all the people he had ever seen. All the waves and currents hurried onward, suffering, toward objects, many goals. The waterfall, the lake, the rapids, the sea, and all the goals were reached; and each was followed by a new one, and the water became vapour and climbed into the sky, became rain and crashed down from the sky, became springs, brooks, became a river, strove onward again, flowed anew. But the passionate voice had changed. It still had the sound of suffering, questing, but other voices were added – voices of joy and suffering, good and evil voices, laughing and lamenting voices, a hundred, a thousand voices…And everything together, all the voices, all the goals, all the striving, all the suffering, all the pleasure – everything together was the river of what is, the music of life.