Gemini 11. Rain falling on the ocean.
Each drop of water dies as it merges with the ocean, the soft shock of its dying awakening memories of other fallings from other skies, and awareness of all other drops of past and future dying their own deaths, each drop magnifying the death of each other. And through the falling rain the ocean echoes with a deep, barely audible sigh, a sigh of pleasure as the rain’s myriad deaths fill it ever fuller.
A woman plunges into a river and absorbs its renewing spirit.
Purana, alchemist of Aab, lives by the River Sares in a hut. She is spoken of in the ancient annals, and still several thousand years later sits on the banks of the Sares and wanders the remote woods. She never comes to the cities of Aab, and rarely does anyone visit her, for she is known to love solitude.
Several times Irnad has gone to see her – in fact, he is the only one known to have spoken with her.
“They call me a recluse,” she said , “but I am with others constantly, though few know it, and even those who see me in their dreams rarely know who I am.”
Pardon me, Purana, if my question be too bold,” said Irnad, “but what is it exactly you do?”
“I am the Sares,” she replied. “my course flows into the worlds of many. I seep into countless places. I flow underground. I bring life where life is ready to receive me, and wash away death. I enter the river every day, for I know how to allow its youth to fill me. And then, sleeping in my hut the course of my dreams discovers those who seek me, even though they may not know what they seek.”
“Ah, Purana,” replied Irnad, “You are a most wet wisdom to moisten the pages of dry texts!”
“You read me well,” she answered.