THE MYSTERY OF YOUR THIRST
Imagine this scene. You're really thirsty -- so dehydrated that you're
feeling faint. Yet here's the weird thing: You're walking along the bank of
a wide river that's so clear you could see the bottom if you looked.
But you're not looking. In fact, you seem oblivious to the surging force of
nature just a few yards away.
Is it invisible to you? Are you so preoccupied with your suffering that
you're blind to the very source that would end your suffering?
Up ahead you see a man. As you approach, you realize he's holding a
bottle of water. You run to him and beg him to let you drink. He readily
agrees. Gratefully, you guzzle the precious liquid, then thank him
profusely.
As you walk away, he calls after you, "By the way, there's a lot more
water over there," and he points to the river.
Do you hear him? If you hear him, do you believe him? Or do you keep
walking, hoping to find another person with another bottle somewhere up
ahead?
Imagine this scene. You're really thirsty -- so dehydrated that you're
feeling faint. Yet here's the weird thing: You're walking along the bank of
a wide river that's so clear you could see the bottom if you looked.
But you're not looking. In fact, you seem oblivious to the surging force of
nature just a few yards away.
Is it invisible to you? Are you so preoccupied with your suffering that
you're blind to the very source that would end your suffering?
Up ahead you see a man. As you approach, you realize he's holding a
bottle of water. You run to him and beg him to let you drink. He readily
agrees. Gratefully, you guzzle the precious liquid, then thank him
profusely.
As you walk away, he calls after you, "By the way, there's a lot more
water over there," and he points to the river.
Do you hear him? If you hear him, do you believe him? Or do you keep
walking, hoping to find another person with another bottle somewhere up
ahead?
Rob Brezsny
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