If you listen to Smetana’s Moldau, you understand in his recurring theme the chief characteristic of a river: Flow. Wade into a river or drift on a raft to experience flow, but you will notice something about the process. It varies in the same river.
We’ve been hung up on the idea of flow for a long time. It’s the philosophical notion espoused by Heraclitus and rejected by the followers of Parmenides. The latter use the argument that what we perceive as change has nothing to do with the persistence of immutable being, that change is a matter of appearance. So much for the philosophical stuff. Let’s apply: Even if change is appearance rather than essence, does it really matter whether or not it is for philosophers real or imaginary? We really can’t get by dealing with appearances. If change is, in fact, our reality, how can we identify its characteristics? Where is change most rapid?
Think rivers. Wade across a shallow one and find yourself pushed downstream. Something is going on. The persistence is the constant push. Crossing the flow requires some compensating force against that flow. The river’s change is, as far as the crosser is concerned, a reality. Being is changing: The constant is the inconstant.
So, too, you. You want to recognize yourself in the flow of life. You want to see a constant, an identifiable you. But you must always act on appearances. You don’t really have a choice. You continuously cross the river of appearances.
Now some more about flow. If you measure the flow rate of a river, you will find that it is different in different parts of the river. Go out to the middle and underwater a bit (there’s actually a depth and position for peak flow), and you will find the fastest flow. The river flows more slowly along the banks and the riverbed (the so called “wetted perimeter”) than it does in the middle at about 40% of the stream’s depth. Those who measure river velocity do so by taking into account the variations in the stream’s depth, making an average assessment that is related to the stream’s discharge (total water running past a point).
The river’s banks and bed are restrictive. They impede flow. And isn’t it the same with your own changes, your own flow? Out in the middle, away from others, you are free to move at whatever rate you can, but in friction with others, you slow. Others impede your free flow. They act as a force to “keep you in place,” to make your velocity zero. They are your “wetted perimeter.” Even in fast flowing mountain streams you can witness almost—and sometimes completely—still water along the banks.
Not every flow in your life occurs at the same rate. It might be a good time to ask yourself in what part of the channel of your existence you find the freer flow. Maybe that is where you need to concentrate the discharge of your desires and goals. Maybe that is where change is more than appearance. Maybe that is your reality.
We’ve been hung up on the idea of flow for a long time. It’s the philosophical notion espoused by Heraclitus and rejected by the followers of Parmenides. The latter use the argument that what we perceive as change has nothing to do with the persistence of immutable being, that change is a matter of appearance. So much for the philosophical stuff. Let’s apply: Even if change is appearance rather than essence, does it really matter whether or not it is for philosophers real or imaginary? We really can’t get by dealing with appearances. If change is, in fact, our reality, how can we identify its characteristics? Where is change most rapid?
Think rivers. Wade across a shallow one and find yourself pushed downstream. Something is going on. The persistence is the constant push. Crossing the flow requires some compensating force against that flow. The river’s change is, as far as the crosser is concerned, a reality. Being is changing: The constant is the inconstant.
So, too, you. You want to recognize yourself in the flow of life. You want to see a constant, an identifiable you. But you must always act on appearances. You don’t really have a choice. You continuously cross the river of appearances.
Now some more about flow. If you measure the flow rate of a river, you will find that it is different in different parts of the river. Go out to the middle and underwater a bit (there’s actually a depth and position for peak flow), and you will find the fastest flow. The river flows more slowly along the banks and the riverbed (the so called “wetted perimeter”) than it does in the middle at about 40% of the stream’s depth. Those who measure river velocity do so by taking into account the variations in the stream’s depth, making an average assessment that is related to the stream’s discharge (total water running past a point).
The river’s banks and bed are restrictive. They impede flow. And isn’t it the same with your own changes, your own flow? Out in the middle, away from others, you are free to move at whatever rate you can, but in friction with others, you slow. Others impede your free flow. They act as a force to “keep you in place,” to make your velocity zero. They are your “wetted perimeter.” Even in fast flowing mountain streams you can witness almost—and sometimes completely—still water along the banks.
Not every flow in your life occurs at the same rate. It might be a good time to ask yourself in what part of the channel of your existence you find the freer flow. Maybe that is where you need to concentrate the discharge of your desires and goals. Maybe that is where change is more than appearance. Maybe that is your reality.
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