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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


Originally published at