A man sat on the shore and watched the river—
everything drifts there and then grows old.
The moon drifts in the river and crumbles like a cookie.
A mountain drifted in the river, broke from its base,
and hurled itself into the sea.
Many other things drifted in that river.
The man on the shore dipped his hand into the water,
pulled out a book—sat on the shore and read.
Then he returned the book to the river,
for nothing can be taken with you onto the shore...
That man did nothing more.
He sat on the shore—not waiting, just being...
Once, as the man sat on the shore,
someone called out to him from the water:
“Help! Pull me out of here!”
He cried out like that because in that river all people were drifting,
and all of them were growing old and dying.
The man sitting on the shore shouted back:
“Come out!”
And then the other man came out of the water.
They sat on the shore together,
when the other man said:
“Boring”—and returned to the river...
The man sits on the shore alone.
Nothing happens on the shore,
but he is not bored.
Everything happens in the river—
the man sits on the shore.