Be my water he said, as he gently touched her face with his fingers.

She knew what he didn’t yet remember,

they had met lifetimes ago, and were destined to drink each other in again but the way in which their souls would swallow each other would look and feel more like the river flowing over the rocky mountains and less like the stream that meets the sea.

You can’t rush the river.

But then, how can you change the world ?

It’s not here to change or fix, only transform.

He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he wanted to do, everything he wanted to have happen in his life.

But “you can’t rush the river”, placing her hand on his chest both inviting him in and warning him not to lean to far.

And all he could do was dream about what he wasn’t doing, or who he wasn’t being, or who he wasn’t hugging and who he wasn’t loving.

But “you can’t rush the river”, pulling his breath out from every pore in his body.

And all she could do was wonder why he didn’t remember how to take action or why his action wasn’t as significant as he wanted it to be.

He thought of his mistakes rather than his accomplishments.

He thought of the times he waited for life to begin rather than being in life at the very moment it was occurring.

and then

he thought of Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr and Mother Teresa and possibly understood:

They never paid attention to the flow of the river,
and it didn’t matter if the flow was that of the Rocky mountains or of the stream hitting the ocean.

They only focused on the flow of their dreams
and with that thought

they existed in every moment as it occurred and their dreams came,

and what they knew so deep down in the center of their soul was that they were called forth by a much larger river,

the one we call humanity.