Separation

08/06/14

A drop of water sat down in the living room and tied its shoes. One of the breathing
ones looked at the drop of water and said, “The clouds are very beautiful today, are they
not?”
“I don’t have to be part of anything I don’t want to,” replied the drop of water.
“I hope nothing falls out of the sky on our heads,” said another one of the breathing
ones.
“Was that an oblique reference to my sacred brethren without whom you could not
survive?” questioned the drop of water, pointedly.
One of the breathing ones had a cold, which he demonstrated by snuffling up the
similarities between the fluid secreting from his forwardmost facial appendage and the
reticent drop of water’s verbal coagulation.
“Well don’t expect me to lick you merely out of kindness,” said one of the
breathing ones with a sarcastic wet lisp. “I have my feet planted firmly in the ground.
Harvest approaches.”
“Considering the barely suppressed hostility of your interrogation, I should wonder
if anything at all could ever consider you bountiful,” replied the drop of water.
“No,” interjected an entirely different breathing one, “you cannot address
abundance and plenty in such a manner. Your implications would only make an idiot
listen to the wrong things.”
To which the first breathing one added, “The incongruence of your shoes has not
escaped our notice despite your best efforts to distract us and tying them in place remains
merely an exercise in gullibility. I am strained to the breaking point and uncertainty
avails itself of my tension.”
To which an entirely different breathing one replied, I too have been searching
for the reason in your actions and it hurts me to say I have not found one.”
“The more I tell you about it, the more alive you will be inside it, and the easier it
will become, in due course, to hang you out to dry. I’m still there in the movement of the
river that does not contain me,” replied the drop, evaporating, ”but you may have noticed
the way I can disappear when my work is done.”
“Pain,” continued the drop of water, tying his shoelaces tighter as he disappeared.
“Pain is the answer.” And one of the breathing ones concluded that a tangential variety of
progress might actually have been implied by the answer if breathing had actually helped
to understand the question.



Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.