The Stream

I’m the quiet preacher in that picturesque, pastoral scene in the woods. And whether there is a scheduled service or not, I’m there, sharing. Sometimes in my tall, tenor voice or perhaps the rich baritone one. Most of the time though, I am whispering.

Few come by, and fewer listen. Those that do are content to hear a babble or a trickle. The most amazing oratory in the universe is being proclaimed, and they leave with nothing but a faint memory of some splashing sounds.

One day, stop by. Perhaps an ornery wren or a finicky robin will help me convey the message to you.

You can be late, as the communiqué never stops. This time, dwell on what is genuine, and not what is on the surface effervescence. The very highest will be found at the deepest depths. Allow your senses to take a vacation. Come with nothing. Desire nothing.

I speak the loftiest lessons in the simplest of ways.

Intrigue comes from what is there, profundity from what is not.

Someday, you may be called – to be the stream.