A River runs through it

My head, I mean. We went to Newlands Forest on Sunday, and sat by the river under the bridge.

The boys looked for tadpoles, Ginny sat on teh rocks and I sat on a uprooted tree. I closed my eyes to listen better. The river flowed over the rocks. On the left side of my head there was a different frequency to what was coming out on the right. It felt as though my head was tuning the water. Churning it as it passed through me.

So here is the metaphor: one must not wade through the river of life, but instead let it run through you.

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