The Soul Bowl

I look at the water fountain in my backyard and it feels less like an object and more like a diagram I’m accidentally inside of—water lifting itself into brief individuality before collapsing back into something it never really left. I start to see people that way, including myself, as droplets pulled from a larger, quiet reservoir of mind, each of us given just enough height and light to believe in our separation. We hang there for a second, naming things, building identities, mistaking the arc for a path, and then we’re already falling, dissolving back into the same collective unconscious that pushed us up in the first place. It all moves too quickly to hold onto, like trying to remember a dream while still dreaming it, but there’s something beautiful about the present moment—feels like the only place where the illusion and the truth overlap— the now is fucking beautiful.