The little Stream called to the Sea

(c) Tomo Yun http://yunphoto.net/en/

“The Little Stream Called to the Sea”—A Sufi Tale

Once there was a little stream that dreamed of flowing to the sea. The stream started in an aquifer , a huge pool of water underground, but the call of the ocean was so strong that the stream pushed its way through nooks and cracks, up through the earth until it burst forth into the air and began its journey toward the sea. As its waters bubbled to the surface they ran down the hill carving the stream bed into the earth. Sometimes the stream babbled as it traveled, sometimes it gurgled , sometimes it roared . At times the stream traveled alone . Its waters were so clear you could see the pebbles that lined its bed. At other times the stream ran through great lakes , or tumbled over a cliff , or joined other streams to form a river , and then split again to travel alone, but always, always the little stream yearned to flow into the sea.
Sometimes the stream would run fast and deep , eager to reach the sea. Fish swam in its waters as it carried them swiftly on its journey. Sometimes the stream would grow wide and slow, and it would carry boats on its back as it continued its journey. But always, always the little stream yearned to flow into the sea.
One day, just as the call of the ocean seemed to grow a bit stronger, the stream found itself growing sluggish, its waters grew thick with mud, until sadly it pooled into a brackish mud hole right on the edge of the desert. “Woe is me,” thought the little stream, “now I'll never get to the sea.” It tried going around the desert—but the desert was too wide. It tried going under the desert—but the desert was too deep. Still (even with mud in its “ears”) the little stream heard the call of the ocean and yearned to flow to the sea. After what seemed like a long time, as the stream just pooled there in the sun, it began to hear a second voice . “I can take you to the sea, little stream,” whispered the wind. “Come with me, I'll carry you to the ocean shore.”
“How could you do that?” scoffed the stream. “You are only made of air.”
“I can carry you on a breeze,” whispered the wind, “But you must be very brave, for you must let go of yourself and change.”
“I've changed many times,” said the stream.
“But this will be different,” said the wind .
The little stream paused, but deep within, the stream still yearned for the sea. The stream let go… and the wind picked it up particle by particle. At first the stream was scared , for it felt lost, it was no longer a stream but was turned sort of inside out and had become moisture swirling in the sky . The view was like nothing the little stream had ever seen before. Not only was the whole world laid out below it, but it was surrounded by sparkling jewels . Then what had been the stream realized that all those sparkling jewels were parts of itself. Molecules of water, droplets of moisture, sparkling in the light. What had been the stream realized that it was truly beautiful on the inside.
Next the stream-turned-moisture saw that it was not alone, for the wind had whispered to other streams, and ponds, and even to the morning dew upon the oasis. All had turned into moisture. And all their parts were also sparkling in the sun. Together they were even more beautiful, for the sunlight had changed them into all the colors of a rainbow.
Then the little stream-turned-rainbow felt itself falling , and falling and falling. All the other droplets were falling too, until plop, plop, plop, plop— all the droplets ran together into a mighty river which rushed down the mountainside , across a coastal plain, and into the sea, where the waves pushed it back and pulled it forward and the currents carried it far out into the pulsing depths. The little stream was content.
But I understand that every now and then, the wind would breeze by, whispering to the currents in the sea … “Come with me, come with me…” and that the moisture would rise up into the wind and be carried away to start all over again.