still point

where is that point
do you know?
that exact point,
where sadness turns to joy,
where anger turns to calm,
where fear turns to trust,
where shame turns to self-respect,
where grief turns to deep connection,
where jealousy turns to devotion,
where hatred turns to passion,
where depression turns to rebirth,
where chaos turns to order,
where non-love turns to love?

i don't know.

and so,
I don't chase the river,
I let it caress me,
immerse me,
and wash me
with its wetness,
not knowing
how the ripples
will unfold,
or where they will go,
knowing only this -
that I am the river,
never resting
upon
one ripple,
one wave,
one drop
of water,
that one exact point
where everything
becomes dead,
and still.