A stream, from its source in far-off mountains... passing through every kind
and description of countryside .. at last reached the sands of the desert. Just as it had crossed every other barrier,
The stream tried to cross this one.
But it found that as fast as it ran into the sand ..
..its waters disappeared.
The stream was certain that its destiny was to cross this desert. And yet there was no way to get across.
And then, a hidden voice, coming from the desert sand itself, whispered to the stream:
'The wind crosses the desert, and so can you.'
Cried The Ant.
The stream grumbled that it was racing towards the sand
with all its might, but that it was only getting absorbed.
It pointed out that the wind could fly, and this was why it
could cross a desert.
By hurtling at things in your usual energetic way you will
not get across,' cooed the voice of the sands.
'You will either disappear.
Or become a marsh.
But how can the wind carry me?' sobbed the frustrated stream.You must allow the wind to carry you over to your destination.'
You can be carried but only by allowing yourself to be absorbed into the wind.'
The sands whispered.
The stream did not like the idea of being swallowed up by the wind at all.
After all, it had never been absorbed before.
It did not want to lose its individuality.
And, once having lost it,
how was it to know that it could ever
find it again?
"The wind,said the voice, 'Can help you.
It takes up water, carries it over the desert,
and then lets it fall again.
Falling as rain, the water again becomes a river.'
'But how can I know
that this is true?'
moaned the stream.
'It is true,' said the voice.
And anyway, if you don't listen to me,
the best you can hope to become is a quagmire ...
and even that could take you many, many years ...
And being a quagmire isn't nearly as good as being a stream.'
But I just want to stay the same as I am!' wailed the stream.
'Whatever happens, you can't stay exactly the same as you are
now,' the voice said.
But if you act now, the wind
will carry your most important
part away, so that it can re-form you
into a wonderful new stream.'
When it heard this, a shadow of a memory
flitted across the thoughts of the stream.
Dimly, it remembered a state in which it,
or some part of it had once been held in the
arms of the wind.
It also remembered that way back then,
allowing the wind to swallow it up
hadn't seemed like the most obvious thing,
to do either.
So with a whimper of fear, the stream raised his vapour into the welcoming arms of the wind.
And the wind gently carried
his vapour up, up and away.
Letting it fall softly, as soon
as they reached a mountain,
many, many miles away.
And because it had been so worried
about what would happen,
the stream was able to really appreciate
its new home.
And with a sigh of relief it realised
that it now knew what it really meant
to be a stream.
And back in the desert, the sands smiled to themselves, saying:
'We knew all along that the stream would be just fine.
Stretching from the mountains to the river as we do,
we see this sort of thing every day.'
And that is why it is said that the 'Stream of Life' is written in the sands.
The End