Different.
But the same.
The story of our life.
The story of the cosmos itself.
Look at the raging sea.
It is the same as the river underneath your feet.
Walk into the river.
It is not the same as yesterday.
And yet you know it is.
What is the meaning of change, if not to deny itself and let you be?
Wet. Dry.
Still here.
How can you talk about the storm while standing below a tree?
Poetic Philosophy 