How can we know all that we know when the day spreads out towards an horizon and we do not know what lies beyond, when all is distance and unknown? So many things lie out of reach, so many things beyond our outreaching hands. We would like to touch the world, take hold of it and keep it close, but it is forever just out of reach.
Whenever we think we have a grasp of it, it slithers free with a careless flick of its tail and glides away down the stream, leaving us with empty hands, grasping nothing as the mud eddies up around us, obscuring all that we thought we had seen.
We sit on the bank watching the river flow past us and out into that infinite sea that spreads far beyond the horizons of our knowing. We have walked along that shore picking out bright pebbles, interesting shells and the flotsam left stranded by the tide. We have walked the banks of the river that feeds that sea, watching it flow, learning its moods and seasons. We have learnt so much; even that praying to the gods of rivers and seas is not what we ought to do. We sit and watch the river flow and the seas changing tides.
We sit here and think that we know.
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