Can’t it be like a river?

I see the division; right or left, up or down, good or evil. I see the division, its like watching a river flow past. There's an impulse to pick aside, as if one bank looks less muddy than the other from a perch among the reeds.

In fact, just imagining the river places you on a side, the most natural thing, choosing a side as if there is some correct way to watch a river. The side where you're standing must be good, or why else would you choose it?

The river is oblivious of the bank and its inhabitants, busy carving as it flows, eroding as it rushes onward as a raging torrent or trickling past in languid dribble. The river takes no sides, the banks are made around it, ignorant of its course.

I see the division between the two sides, the two choices, and decide one seems a fine choice before switching to favor the other. My feet are untroubled by the mud of the banks, it flows between my toes to be carried away as I stand in the current. The river cares little for my choice, regardless of the side. I care little for the river, and less for the banks. I build litte dams across its path and watch as they are dissassembled by the greedy hands of the rapids. I stand in the center and feel it part around me; neither right nor left, neither good nor bad.

It is what it is.