There are times when life flows around me. In front of me, behind me, rushing past me. But sometimes, just sometimes, it feels as though there is no life flowing through me. I feel empty. Like that rock in the river which the river cuts everyday. And yet the rock does not flow with the river. How can it possibly flow? The rock is made of rock and the water is made of water. They do not mix. So the river flows in its own course and the rock stays rooted to its place. It watches, learns, observes, reflects. That’s just the rock. That’s just me.